


Twitchy, And Odd, And Infuriating

by HowardR (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But it's not made obvious to many people until later, Draco is a little obsessed maybe., Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Kinda, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Mysterious Harry, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, POV Minerva McGonagall, POV Multiple, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Romance, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry, Staring, Time Skips, harry is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 19,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: Minerva looks at Harry and sees an odd, twitchy little boy. Probably abused. Maybe damaged. And smart, though he hid it quite well.Hermione looks at Harry and sees her odd, Slytherin friend (and isn't that something?), who stared at her with that odd *look* that always made her wriggle uncomfortably, a little.Draco looks at Harry and sees something odd, hidden and bubbling, just below the surface, and knows the hat didn't make a mistake.A lot of people look at Harry. All of them see something odd.And Harry himself, just looks at them and says; "well, better than being boring."
Comments: 90
Kudos: 346





	1. Twitchy

**Author's Note:**

> All credit to J. K. Rowling, of course.

Harry Potter is a twitchy young boy.

This was the first thing Minerva noticed, when he stepped up at the calling of his name. He was twitchy.

_ Very _ twitchy.

His eyes seemed a little too big for his head, green and piercing and utterly cold. They’re wide, but not in a way that makes them seem innocent. When he looks at her, meeting her gaze as he steps up, his look is not the kind of look a child gives you.

He twitches.

His fingers twitch most. Long, thin and spindly, knuckles standing out like wounds. His veins are clear, blue and risen slightly.

His tread is short and silent, pitter-pattering steps ghosting against the floor.

He steps up, and sits on the stool. He doesn’t seem scared - just… twitchy.

She lowered the sorting hat onto his head, even while pondering, in the back of her mind, that James looked nothing like this. Lily didn’t either.

She can’t really remember  _ any _ students looking quite like Harry did as he stepped up.

She let go of the hat.

There was silence.

...It lasted shorter then she expected.

“SLYTHERIN!!”

Her heart froze.

Harry stood, and offered her the hat, eyes still wide and soaking in the sights.

He had no glasses, she noticed, even as she took the hat numbly.

He pitter-pattered his way to the Slytherin table without glancing around, and sat in a seat, laying a hand prone in front of him like a spider, petrified with fear. Five long, spindly fingers.

And, for the first time, she saw that tick that she would know for the rest of her life.

His thumb, laid out away from the hand, sideways against the table, twitched, tapping sharply and rapidly against the table.

Nobody applauded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just so you know - these chapters should come out pretty quick, but they'll all be pretty short. Likely longer than this one, but short.
> 
> Also, I plan on having a lot of time skips. Not just like - going forward, either. I'll be hopping around from time to time and place to place. I might end up putting a note at the beginning, when this fic is over, about how to read them in chronological order. I might even actually order them that way, in the fic. But, while I'm still updating, when these chapters happen should be nearly entirely random.
> 
> They should all loosely follow cannon, though, and no crossovers or anything.
> 
> I might have some smut at some point. I know what relationship I want. Nothing underage, though, and I'll put a warning at the beginning if I do.
> 
> And no, the relationship isn't Drarry. I'm sick of Drarry at this point.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	2. Trapped

“How in  _ hell _ are we supposed to do this?!”

Draco glanced up at Theo, who was staring at the paper like it had offended him on a personal level. Maybe even insulted his family.

Luckily, though, he had reigned in his temper enough to whisper. Harry always got onto them when they shouted in the library. For some ungodly reason, he considered it a kind of sanctuary, and if they got him banned…

Well, Harry would never directly show his displeasure. Instead, it would be a million little things annoying them. The chirping of loud cicadas when they’re trying to sleep, and having ghosts walk through them far more frequently, or getting lost more and more often when trying to get to class.

All of them completely untraceable, of course.

Hah. And to think Draco had once dismissed Harry as a wannabe Gryffindor, trying to sneak into the house despite being a weird little  _ freak. _

“I need a break.” Theo said finally, voice full of defeat. He slapped his book shut with a sigh, and rubbed at his eyes.

They  _ had _ been here for a few hours, after all - and Theo was apparently no closer to being decent at Transfiguration. And, unfortunately, the only person they knew that was any good at Transfiguration was Harry.

And only Draco knew how good he  _ really _ was.

But Harry didn’t like explaining, and he was rather bad at it, anyway. He would make an awful teacher.

“You guys go on ahead.” Draco said dismissively, waving a hand at them. “I’ll catch up with you.”

All of them seemed curious, but nobody voiced their questions. They all simply left, presumably grateful for the excuse.

Draco hesitated.

Harry didn’t like it when he eavesdropped. He had learned  _ that _ in second year, via a fairly memorable fashion that he swore to this day left his left ear permanently damaged.

But… but he was with  _ Granger. _

Even in his head, he spit the word out like poison. Because he wanted Harry to be  _ his _ friend,  _ his _ project,  _ his _ puzzle to unravel.

But, for some reason,  _ Granger _ had managed to snake under Harry’s walls and make a nest there. Probably out of that god-awful hair of her’s.

And… and she and Harry had this odd kind of connection that he could never quite quantify. Harry hung out with her more and more each passing week, and smiled at her - those tiny little smiles that Draco only ever saw once a month at best, he smiled at  _ Granger _ once a week.

Draco  _ hated _ it.

And he needed to know more.

...Harry would never need to know.

He gently closed his book, and creeped around the bookshelf, pressing an ear against it. Soon enough, he heard  _ Granger’s _ annoying, high-pitched breathless voice filtering through.

“Oh, Harry, it’s  _ wonderful!” _

_ Oh God, _ he thought snidely, _ that’s the ‘I read a new cool book’ tone. _

“Absolutely fascinating - here, look!”

He heard shuffling.

“See? It’s a runic  _ pentagram, _ \- amazing, isn’t it?”

And,  _ God damn it to hell, _ he could  _ hear _ the smile in Harry’s voice as he answered,

“Yes, it is.”

Draco scowled.

“I know! And look, look - do you see how they matched ‘Eil’ and ‘Seidr’? It’s a wonderful idea they had, matching two high-level runes like that - revolutionary, even, if used properly!”

There was a pause, during which Draco presumed the annoying chit sat back in her seat.

“Oh, Harry - the things they’re doing in ancient runes these days, I am  _ so  _ glad I decided to take it!”

“What?”

Harry’s voice had taken on a tone that Draco recognized - that odd,  _ this doesn’t line up _ tone.

It had, unfailingly, led to him discovering something big.

“Hm?” Granger hummed, presumably flipping through a book and  _ not even looking at Harry, the ungrateful little- _

“You decided to do what?”

Harry’s tone had evened out to its usual blankness. Draco wasn’t quite sure if it was genuine, or if he was masking his intrigue and wariness for some reason.

“Take the class, of course.” Granger said dismissively. Draco wanted to strangled her for speaking like that to  _ his _ friend, but beat down the urge.

Something important was happening.

“You said you’ve already signed up for Arithmancy and Care, right?” Harry said, in such a convincing tone of  _ just making sure _ that Draco almost thought it was just a confirmation.

But a tiny voice reminded him that Harry was no normal Slytherin.

“Yep.” Granger said shortly.

There was a pause.

“Hermione?”

“Hm?”

“You… do you remember when you came to my house last Summer?”

Draco did. He had been so pissed off he had nearly succumbed to the urge to shout at Harry, but had resisted.

Harry would just find it odd.

“...Yeah?”

It was clear from Granger’s tone that she wanted to know where this was going.

“...I noticed you had a new piece of jewelry.”

He knew  _ that _ tone, too. The  _ I’ve figured it out and you can’t slip it past me anymore _ tone.

He knew Granger had just frozen. Just as he had, when Harry had turned that tone on him.

“Er - yeah, I did. Um, me and Mom went shopping just before.”

Draco knew instantly she was lying. She was smart, but an awful deceiver. No cunning at all.

“Mm. An odd choice for a casual piece of jewelry though.” Harry went on.

“Mm.” Granger hummed, in a tone that Draco knew only too well from the similar moment Harry had confronted him with something big he had been hiding.

A tone like a rabbit caught in a trap.

Draco was simply waiting for it to spring. For Harry to pull out the  _ why did you lie to me? _ tone and cause Granger to melt in guilt. 

Just as he had.

There was a pause.

...It went on a touch too long.

And then, Harry’s voice came out again - so different from the weak, twitchy one that he had used in his first year.

And oddly… soft.

“...It was nice. It suited you.”

…

That wasn’t the tone.

That was… that…

That was a  _ forgiving _ tone.

…

Harry had let her out of the trap. Scott-free.

He heard Granger sigh a little in relief.

“Thanks, Harry.” She said, a bright smile in her voice. “I liked it a lot too.”

It was clear from her tone that Granger didn’t understand what had just happened. Didn’t understand that Harry had  _ let her go, _ instead of not putting the pieces together to whatever mystery she apparently had.

She thought she had  _ pulled one over on him. _

And Harry was  _ letting _ her think that.

Frustration bubbled fiercely in Draco’s gut, mixed with more than a little confusion.

Why the hell hadn’t Harry sprung the trap?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I wrote this literally eleven minutes after the last chapter - but I'm setting it to be released tomorrow. Because weird.
> 
> Hope you liked it. Harry is a little less weird in this one then he'll probably be in later chapters, but please just let that go. He'll definitely be weird in first year, anyway, but this one (as should be apparent) is at the beginning of third year. So, uh... not so weird.
> 
> He'll usually be weirder, though. Maybe even in some chapters that come even later than this one.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	3. Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll start adding in where this falls in the timeline here. So, this is first year, somewhere in the middle of the first week of classes.

“...Harry?”

Harry glanced up at her, with those wide, wide eyes of his. As always when he locked that intense, seemingly unknowable gaze on her, she felt the urge to wriggle away and out of his line of sight.

It wasn’t quite that she was uncomfortable when he looked at her like that. It wasn’t fear, either, though that was closer.

“You didn’t eat anything at breakfast.”

He tilted his head slightly, like a curious cat.

“Yes.”

His voice, quiet and harsh like grinding steel, was unlike any other she had ever heard.

“You really ought to eat more, Harry. Don’t think I didn’t notice - you didn’t eat at lunch either.”

Harry blinked slowly at her.

His gaze made her feel so… small.

“I was reading.” He said, with that slow precision of his that made it sound like he chose every word carefully.

Hermione blinked at the irrelevant information.

Harry, though, seemed to consider the topic closed, and looked back down at his journal. He began to scratch away in it again, about topics that Hermione was sure would make her head spin in confusion.

She sighed, but gave it up as a bad job. 

She’d just have to hope he ate something next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again. Quick, short chapters from all over the place. Most of them will be longer than this, but whatever.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	4. Brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year, first potions class.

“Harry Potter.”

“Present.”

Hermione sighed a little under her breath. Harry never seemed willing to do things as according to the norms - and thus, where everyone else said ‘here’, he said ‘present’.

Professor Snape glanced up and paused, looking for a moment like he wanted to say something. Harry’s eyes never left his.

After a moment, he simply continued the roll.

“You are here to learn the subtle science,” Professor Snape said once he was finished, his mouth forming the words with a kind of reverence that Hermione thought was impossible to fake. “And  _ exact art _ of potion making.”

He swept across the classroom on silent feet, pacing slowly and keeping his gaze upon the students.

“As there is little foolish wand-waving here,” he went on, rushing through the sentence this time like it was hardly relevant, “many of you will hardly believe this  _ is. Magic.” _

He enunciated those words clearly, harshly. Like it was a statement in and of itself.

“I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids which creep through the human veins - bewitching the mind.  _ Ensnaring the senses.” _

A pause.

“I can teach you,” he whispered - the class was caught on his every word by now. “How to  _ bottle fame, Brew glory,  _ and even… put a stopper… in death.”

He dramatically let the last sentence hover in the tense air for a moment, standing above them like some dark winged fury of old.

_ “If _ you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually teach.” He finished, his tone losing its reverence and becoming harsh and grating as steel.

She stared, as he swept to the front of the class again and stared down at them.

That was far more impressive than even McGonagall’s speech had been.

She had never been more excited to prove herself.

Suddenly, like a bat pouncing on prey, Professor Snape lurched forward. Like a shadow, he suddenly materialized in front of a desk.

_ Harry’s _ desk.

“Potter.” He whispered, looming over him.

“What would you get,” he said slowly with a raised eyebrow, “if you added powdered root of asphodel with an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry looked up at him.

His thumb twitched, and tapped against the desk. It was a tick that she had noticed already.

“...Draught of living death, sir.”

Hermione knew that already, of course - she had  _ read the books, _ it was hardly tough material, really - but Professor Snape, for some reason, looked a little surprised.

“...Correct.” Professor Snape answered, peering at Harry in an indecipherable manner. “Ten points to Slytherin.”

A pause.

“Well, let’s see if anyone else bothered to crack open a textbook.” Professor Snape said, unfurling his spine from its looming position and standing tall. He swept over to the desk next to Hermione’s.

“Longbottom!” He barked, voice far harsher than it had been with Harry.

Neville squeaked.

“What is the first ingredient in the Gwendier Solution - a simple potion to cure boils?”

Neville seemed about to collapse in on himself in terror. Honestly, though, the answer was  _ obvious, _ and the books  _ had _ been assigned reading, Neville should know it…

But it was clear, after a moment, that he didn’t. Professor Snape’s lip curled in what could’ve been disgust or satisfaction.

“Dried nettles, Mr. Longbottom.” He whispered, voice deadly. “Five points from Gryffindor for not completing the assigned reading.”

“And I hope,” he went on, sweeping to the front of the classroom once more, “that you will know that by the end of class - considering we will be brewing the Gwendier Solution today. Pair up. Anyone who doesn’t have a partner in the next ten seconds will have their partner assigned.”

There was a mad scramble to get a decent partner. Professor Snape simply gazed at them with a look of utmost boredom.

“Erm-”

And that was Neville, presumably wanting to partner with her so his cauldron didn’t melt.

But, a moment later, another voice piped up - a quiet one with a tone of scraping steel that she couldn’t mistake for a moment.

“Hermione.”

She turned to Harry, who was standing to the side of her desk. He simply sat next to her and began to set up their station.

She sent him a profoundly grateful look. When he noticed it, his ear twitched a little - but he otherwise didn’t acknowledge her.

When they turned in a perfect boil curing solution, Professor Snape rotated it in the light for a long moment.

“...Five points to you both.” He said finally, setting the vile down with the others.

Hermione beamed proudly. Harry inclined his head.

She couldn’t help but notice that Professor Snape’s eyes stayed latched onto Harry’s back the whole time they walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape. Snape. Severus Snape.
> 
> I love him. This is totally uncharacteristic for him. In the books he's way more of an unreasonable asshole.
> 
> But frankly, I don't care, because Snape is cool and I want him to be a good guy.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	5. Unrecognizable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year, Halloween.

“TROLL!!! IN THE DUNGEONS!!!”   
  


Draco glanced up from his food at the dramatic exclamation, just in time for Quirrell to collapse.

There was a pause.

And pandemonium reigned.

Draco himself, of course, showed nothing of the budding terror in his chest, and held his chin high as everyone else acted like absolute buffoons. Dumbledore managed to conquer the roaring tide of noise by setting off several firecrackers with his wand, and they all turned to him for guidance.

“Prefects, bring your house to the dormitories. Professors, with me - to the dungeons.”

A tiny pause.

And then there was a shuffle and swell of noise once more - though, this time, a far more contained one. Orderly.

“Is he not aware,” Blaise said slowly, in that particular way of his that made everyone seem like an idiot, “that our dorms are  _ in the dungeons?” _

Draco blinked at that - a detail which, honestly, hadn’t even occurred to him.

Despite that fact, a prefect stood and began to herd them out the doors and down into the basement.

Now, let it be known that Draco was a perceptive child. He had had to be, being the heir of a great fortune and family after all. And, in Slytherin, you either perceived or you died. In Slytherin, you were tossed into the lake of malicious students and left to either sink or swim - and Draco had swum, not through great prowess, but through great perception and great influence. He had started with an advantage, but that didn’t mean he was lacking in what made him a good Slytherin.

But, even with these qualifiers, Draco considers himself fairly lucky to this day to have noticed Potter slipping out of line, silent as a shadow.

His eyes followed the boy as he pitter-pattered away into a dark corridor towards a destination he couldn’t imagine.

He paused in the line.

“Draco?” Theo said worriedly, drawing up next to him. “What’s wrong?”

“...Potter broke rank.”

This caused a line of tension to run through the shoulders of the other two boys.

Potter had been a sore subject among Slytherin house for quite a bit. None of them had been quite aware how to take the news that the famed savior of humanity was a slimy snake.

On the one hand - snakes stuck together. It was rule number one in the den, because, no matter what, the other houses were fated to hate them simply for existing. They couldn’t afford to persecute each other in public, simply because persecution of one’s own is a sign of weakness among ranks. They kept it in the common room or they were punished, by the prefects, Snape, and the other children who pounced upon the chance to do some real damage to them.

And so, they didn’t want to shun the boy…

But  _ come on. _

It was  _ Harry Potter, _ for Merlin’s sake! How could they  _ not _ shun him?

Especially considering he would’ve ended up privately shunned even if he had been a nobody. He was odd, twitchy, pale,  _ weak -  _ everyone, most of all Draco, knew what a freak he was. The news had spread quickly, and the students outside Slytherin had began to propose that the boy might even be a rising dark wizard. His only friend was a Gryffindor, who also seemed shunned in her own house (and was a mudblood to boot), and he seemed to have a million little ticks that made him all the more annoying to Draco.

But… some part of him was a little curious despite that.

Because… well…

It was  _ Harry Potter, _ and he had been sorted into  _ Slytherin. _

How could he  _ not _ be a little curious?

And this was the perfect opportunity to both sate his curiosity and get some great blackmail material.

“We’re following him.”

Theo looked very wary about this prospect (and frankly, so did Blaise - though he hid it better), but there was no argument.

As he had known there wouldn’t be.

They managed to slip away from the crowd unnoticed, and followed the silent ghosts of footsteps that Potter had left in his wake.

* * *

They stopped when Potter did.

The boy stood, shock-still, in the middle of the corridor for seemingly no reason. There was a short pause - and then, to Draco’s (and he was sure his two compatriots) confusion, Potter began to sniff at the air - like a dog pursuing prey.

“Close.” The boy muttered under his breath - before sweeping into another corridor.

Draco exchanged a  _ look _ with his friends, and followed gamely.

* * *

When they reached their destination, Draco hardly knew for a second. Harry simply stopped in the middle of a corridor again, and sniffed at the air.

Then, the boy slowly crept up to a doorway with a ‘female’ sign on it, and pressed his ear to the door.

A pause.

And an ear-splitting roar.

Draco and friends flinched and exchanged startled glances, but Potter’s face screwed into an expression Draco had never seen on his face.

His mouth set into a straight line - almost an imperfection in his face, a gash that wasn’t needed according to the rest of his expression. His pupils contracted, sharpening into dagger-fine points and gaining a sliver of steel, and his nose and ears twitched once and then became completely still for the first time Draco had seen.

And the boy swept into the bathroom.

Draco felt more than a bit of reluctance in joining him, and, judging by the expressions on his friends’ faces, they weren’t exactly excited to do so either.

…

He decided.

“You guys go back.” He whispered. “I’ll see what the hell Potter is doing.”

They both stared at him for a long moment. But, because he was  _ Malfoy, _ they soon gave up any pretense of disobeying.

“You sure, Draco?” Theo whispered worriedly, eyes darting at the door. Noises were emerging - slams, shatters, roars.

He simply nodded.

They hesitated one last moment, but obeyed.

Draco paused, glancing out at them as they vanished down the corridor, and then walked over to the door. Instead of sweeping after the boy, he gently opened the door, peering through the crack.

Potter stood in the middle of a battlefield, wand in hand. In a corner, cowered Granger, staring on in total, paralyzed fear.

“Wouldn’t happen to know any spells to kill a troll?” Potter shouted, with a firmness that didn’t fit his stature.

Granger seemed unable to respond.

The troll turned, it’s club dragging behind it, upon Potter. Potter’s wand straightened, pointing directly at his head.

Draco wasn’t quite sure what to do.

He wanted to run and get help - but there very well might not be time. But he could hardly just sweep in and try to help himself - he hardly had any spells to kill a troll, either, he would likely just be another nuisance, and he  _ certainly  _ wasn’t going down with  _ Potter. _

He hesitated.

And, in the end, he was glad he had - because it gave Potter time to make a choice.

Another change seemed to seize the boy. His eyes bubbled, the green flames sharpening and licking at his pupils. His spine straightened even further, and his hand gripped the wand firmly.

In that pose, Draco saw - with certainty - someone making an important choice. A general leading his troops into battle.

Potter was about to make a choice he couldn’t take back.

And Potter’s eyes flashed, as the troll roared and began to lift its club.

_ “Avada Kedavra.” _

Draco almost couldn’t believe his ears.

But there was no mistaking that shade of green.

The spell - to Draco’s further shock - didn’t fizzle out midair. He  _ refused _ to believe it would  _ work, _ Potter was  _ eleven, _ he could hardly feel  _ actual  _ murderous intent - but even the fact that anything fired from his wand, even if it was a glorified firework, was impressive.

Draco suddenly wondered if there might be more to the boy who had just chosen to cast an unforgivable at age eleven.

The spell landed, and fizzled out against the troll’s skin - as expected.

Hah. As if it would-

And the troll fell on the ground, completely lifeless.

There was a shocked pause. Potter stared down at the troll, with an expression that made it clear he hadn’t quite expected that to work either.

Draco’s thoughts began to run a million miles an hour.

Granger slowly unfurled from her crouched, paralyzed position - but her eyes remained impossibly wide, latched onto Potter.

“That… that was an unforgivable.”

Potter didn’t answer. He knelt next to the troll, after a moment - eyes clouded again. Without that military sharpness. The sureness left his spine.

His fingers found the troll’s pulse point.

“He’s dead.” Potter pronounced, with utmost surety.

“...That was an  _ unforgivable, _ Harry.”

Potter seemed to think this didn’t warrant a response.

“You need… you need to  _ actually, truly _ want something to die for that to work.” Granger whispered, voice becoming a little more hysterical with every word.

“And I did.” Potter answered, voice sharp and sure.

Granger stared.

“It was going to kill you.” Potter went on, looking more sure in what he was saying then he had ever looked when answering a question in class. With confidence that Draco had never seen. “It was going to kill me. It was a rabid dog - and it needed someone to put it down.”

Granger seemed incapable of answering.

“...We can’t stay here.” Potter said suddenly, with that same tone of confidence that was beginning to sound a little too odd to Draco. It was just…  _ weird, _ hearing that tone from such a frail, twitchy boy.

But Potter wasn’t twitching now.

“What! Why?!”

“Because anyone who finds out a Slytherin did this, warranted or not, will remove every point we’ve gained - and, frankly, if that happens I might succumb to the urge to slap one of them. And  _ that _ wouldn’t end well.”

Granger stared, seemingly still a little shell-shocked.

“Can you walk?”

Granger scoffed a little, her cheeks regaining a bit of colour. “Of  _ course, _ I didn’t get my legs broken.”

“Good. We’re leaving. Follow me - I know a shortcut.”

And the boy who Draco could hardly recognize as Potter swept over to a blank wall and tapped a stone that Draco noticed was in the same position as the one in Diagon Alley. Instantly, the wall vanished.

Potter walked away. Granger hesitated for a long, long moment, her eyes looking like those of a rabbit caught in a trap.

And then followed.

And Draco simply stared after them for a long time - until he heard footsteps around the corridor, even - wondering how in hell Potter had managed to slip under his radar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Troll encounters. And confident Harry. And unforgivables.
> 
> Had a lotta fun writing this one - you can usually tell how fun a concept is to me by looking at how long the chapter about it is. This one is the longest so far - 1.7k words.
> 
> Man, I am having a blast writing this fic.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	6. Needling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Transfiguration lesson

Minerva sat down and watched like a hawk while the students took out their wands.

It was odd, really, how the students had formed into groups so rapidly. And  _ how _ they had formed. She had rather not expected one friendship in particular, though it was also the one she was happiest with.

Harry Potter was sitting in the desk next to Hermione Granger, drawing out his own wand and looking down at his match.

She had, frankly, been watching Harry ever since he had been sorted. It wasn’t quite for fear of him turning dark - a fear which she had no doubt Albus possessed - but rather because of the behavioral patterns she recognized only too well.

Twitchy. Pale. Thin, probably malnourished. Rarely eating. Not making many friends. Isolating himself. Eyes constantly darting around, as if looking for threats. Not letting himself be surrounded at the table.

And a deep hatred of anyone touching him. She had noticed it first in the halls, when he had went to great effort to ghost through the corridors, only his robes scraping against the other students. Then, she had noticed Ms. Granger trying to lay a hand on his shoulder.

He had jerked back like her hand had burned him, and his eyes had been sharp as daggers.

Ms. Granger clearly made more of an effort not to make contact after that.

Speaking of Ms. Granger, she was flicking her wand with increasing agitation at her match. It was a frustration she had seen before, in the eyes of Lily Evans during her own first lesson.

Harry, on the other hand, had tried it only once - and failed, of course - and was now simply staring at the match with those wide, wide eyes of his. With that unique shade of green that seemed, somehow, even more vibrant than that of Lily Evans.

She noticed his thumb twitch and tap against his wand, as he tilted his head slightly. Like the match was a curiosity that had just entered his line of sight.

It was a reaction she had never seen before.

Ms. Granger had given up on the agitated flicks, and was glaring fiercely at her match. Like it offended her on a personal level.

Minerva felt a tiny smile tug at her lips, and crushed it.

After a long moment, Ms. Granger exhaled slowly, and raised her wand - and gave it a sharp flick.

Instantly, Minerva could tell it wasn’t quite right - but it was close enough, and had enough determination behind it, that the match thinned the tiniest bit.

She felt a bit of pride glow in her stomach. Her lions always would be the best at transfiguration.

And her gaze drifted to Harry, who was staring silently at his match.

...At his needle.

_ What? _

It was a needle in front of him. Harry untitled his head, like his curiosity had been sated.

Ms. Granger, Minerva noticed through her shock, glanced over at Harry to tell him of her success. In a flash, his wand was flicked again, his lips formed the word ‘finite’, and the needle transformed smoothly back into a perfect match.

Ms. Granger whispered something to him excitedly. He nodded, and smiled the tiniest smile at her.

Minerva resolved to keep an even closer eye on Harry from then on.

...And to talk to Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all noticed the tag 'mentor McGonagall', because otherwise this would probably seem pointless and a little boring.
> 
> Thanks for all the nice comments. Yes, I do read them, but unless you have a question I won't respond.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	7. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First week, after Transfiguration lesson but before chapter 3.

Hands, hands,  _ so many hands, _ he  _ hated  _ them -

It felt like they reached for him, constantly. Tried to grab at his robes and his hair and his ankles. Greasy, fat, grubby fingers brushing his flesh and a million blurry, dead blank stares.

_ Hands. _

They haunted him.

Hands, so many hands, all of them  _ wrong, wrong, WRONG. _ Old, gnarled hands, setting him on a doorstep in the cold to be discovered by a fury of a woman. Thick, fleshy hands, grabbing at his shoulders and tossing him around like a ragdoll. Thin, slender hands, swinging frying pans and making sure he could cook every morning.

And now,  _ all these hands, _ reaching for him and consuming him in their magnitude. Limp, lifeless, attached to the faceless bodies of a million students -  _ hands. _

He jerked away from them, but it did nothing. Helped not. The hands still hounded him, still haunted him, and he just wanted to collapse and sob sometimes.

And, sometimes, he wanted to chop all those hands off and burn them until there was nothing left but a shriveled husk.

But here - it was  _ here _ that he could be safe. In the library. Away from the prying stares and  _ hands, always hands never leaving him - _

A hand on his shoulder.

He jerked away from it, hand going to his wand, and his eyes found the culprit and daggered them with his hateful glare.

Hermione stared back at him, wide-eyed.

He felt all his rage leave him - drain away like water from a strainer. He sighed, and whispered - trying to make sure it wasn’t as harsh as it would’ve been -

_ “Don’t touch me.” _

“Sorry.” Hermione squeaked instantly, eyes darting away.

There was a beat of silence.

“Um, I - uh - wanted to ask if you wanted to study Transfiguration? I noticed you didn’t get any results with your match…”

She trailed off, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He stared up at her curiously.

Humans were so odd sometimes. Why would she be nervous?

“Okay.” He said.

And, like he had flipped a switch, Hermione’s face lit up.

“Wha -  _ really?” _

He blinked slowly at her.

“Why not?”

Hermione seemed to have no answer for that.

They spent every remaining Thursday of the year in the library together, studying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to make this Hermione's perspective, but the hands monologue burrowed into my brain and made a nest and I needed to give it a new home before booting it out.
> 
> I might still re-write this from Hermione's perspective and upload it anyway, but it'll be at least a few chapters away if I do.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	8. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Year, a little while after Halloween.

Draco stared at Potter across the lunch table and wondered.

The boy always sat alone. It was something Draco had never noticed before - but then again, he had never really noticed  _ Potter _ before.

He had reason to notice now.

Potter messed with his food, prodding at it with his fork but never actually eating any. His stare was a thousand miles away, empty and meaningless.

Or at least, the meaning was indiscernible to Draco.

He had begun to notice a thousand little things about Potter. Again, he was a perceptive boy - and he saw the little things that he had never noticed about the boy. The things that might have tipped him off, before, that Potter was more than just a twitchy weirdo.

He had noticed how damn frail the boy was - but that, despite that, he could run as fast as any decent Quidditch player and hefted his books with more ease then Draco had expected. He had noticed the way Potter moved - pitter-pattering down corridors, silent as a ghost, never making direct contact with any of the students. He had noticed the boy’s little ticks - the thumb tapping was most obvious, but the way he tilted his head when presented with a challenging spell of assignment.

Most of all, he had noticed the boy in classes. And this was where the biggest little thorns in Potter’s persona (for it had to be a persona, Draco reasoned - nobody with that kind of power was that obviously  _ weak. _ ) poked out, and dug their way into Draco’s head.

The way his stare never wavered from the teacher, not for even a moment. The way he held his wand - in sharp contrast to how he carried himself. He wielded his wand like a baton, sharp and precise.

And yet, he had noticed perhaps most of all how Potter’s eyes always seemed to find their way to Granger’s task instead of his own, in the classes they shared. And how his eyes had a dull, filmy look when he practiced before Granger had succeeded - like he wasn’t really paying attention.

Draco had began to suspect he might even have a  _ crush _ on the buck-toothed mudblood, which was an idea that disgusted him to no end.  _ Granger _ hardly was capable of being in a close friendship - much less a relationship - with a wizard… no, with a  _ Slytherin _ like Potter.

“Draco.”

He glanced at Blaise, who was staring at him in that flat way of his.

“You’re staring at Potter again.”

Draco’s eyes darted away, and he felt a little heat crawl up his neck.

“What happened on Halloween, anyway?” Theo said, leaning in a little. “You never did tell us.”

Blaise was feigning disinterest, but Draco could see the way his eyes sharpened.

He found himself unable to answer that question.

“I heard the troll had died.” Blaise provided flatly. “But Potter and Granger were never acknowledged.”

“The Professors don’t know what happened.” Draco said instantly, in a sharp, biting tone he hadn’t intended to take.

His emotions were getting away from him. He breathed in, and did his best to shackle them.

“Potter…”

He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

What  _ was _ Potter? Powerful? Dangerous? Admirable?

Or something…  _ bigger? _

“Keep a close eye on him.” Draco resolved.

Yes, that much was certain. They needed to keep an eye on the boy.

“What  _ happened, _ though?” Theo prodded.

“Just… watch Potter.” Draco answered - or, perhaps more accurately, non-answered. “He’s worth keeping track of.”

Theo grumbled a little under his breath, but made no complaints.

Because he was  _ Malfoy. _

Draco’s gaze flickered to the pale, twitchy boy again - who had given up on his meal and was scratching away in a leather-bound journal. That was another thing Draco had noticed - Potter scratched away in that thing  _ damn near constantly. _

What Draco wouldn’t give to read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco is becoming a little obsessed maybe.
> 
> So, for those of you just tuning in and haven't read the other end notes - which I'm assuming is quite a few, given how this fic has gone from zero hits to around 300 within the day or two it's been up - these are all gonna be short little drabbles from varying points in the HP timeline, with an odd, Slytherin Harry being the only adjuster. Though, of course, that causes things to branch all the further in time. I'll be updating this pretty frequently, probably - I'm trying to keep a 'two updates a day' schedule here, considering how short these chapters are. So fare they've ranged from roughly 200 to 2000 words.
> 
> Hope you all like it - everyone who's commented has, at least, so that's good.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	9. Ridden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year, a little while after the troll incident.

It was on a dreary November afternoon that Hermione finally fell under the urge to spy a little on her best and only friend.

She had kept hanging out with him after the  _ troll incident, _ of course, but her wariness had increased tenfold. She knew Harry was a good person - it was a bubbling instinct in her gut, immune to logic or persuasion. She just  _ knew _ it, in the same way somebody knows their favorite colour. But, despite that, she couldn’t help but see Harry differently ever since that day.

It was odd, really, how big a difference there seemed to be between the Harry she had seen in that bathroom and the one she studied with in the library. The Harry she knew - the one who always had his head in a book and needed prodding upon prodding to get a decent meal in him - was quite a bit like her. He seemed to have a general disinterest in people, and far preferred the realms of a good book. Whenever she had to pull him from the cover of his journal or some new novel he was reading, his eyes would get that same filmy look that her parents had told her she got, like the world wasn’t quite real to him yet.

Though, of course, the differences stood out far more than the similarities. The little ticks Harry had, the way his thumb always seemed to tap against any surface, his ghostly paleness, the way he twitched at seemingly random things - or, sometimes, nothing at all.

He really was more than a little odd.

But, suddenly, there was a new Harry in her head, digging away at her mental image of her only friend and burrowing into her skull.

The Harry who had stood in front of a troll without a hint of fear on his face. The Harry whose spine was perfectly straight. The Harry with eyes like rusted copper, green flames licking greedily at his pupils and mouth set. The Harry with that sharp jawline, wand unwavering. The Harry who had looked at that monstrous thing with only a kind of distant pity, and had said in a tone like grating steel - so like and yet so unlike the boy she knew.

_ “Avada Kedavra.” _

And that  _ voice -  _ that voice haunted her. Sharp as a dagger, piercing and precise, words clipped. Deadly as sin and completely unyielding.

She couldn’t fit the two together. Perhaps that was what niggled away at her mind more than anything else - that she couldn’t put together the two images into one cohesive one. It was like two puzzle pieces which she knew where the last of the picture, and yet, they didn’t quite fit together.

And really… what did it matter if she took a look in his journal? It wasn’t a big deal.

A voice whispered that it was a massive invasion of privacy.

She ignored it.

She leant over the side of the table and lunged, grabbing the journal and putting it in her bag right before Harry arrived with his newest massive leather-bound book.

She might be a bookworm, but really - who read about  _ genealogy _ for  _ fun? _

* * *

It was only when she was safely ensconced in her dorm room that she cracked open the journal, anxiety, giddiness and a little guilt bubbling in her gut.

_ If lost, please return to: _

_ Harry James Potter _ _. _

The guilt bubbled more fiercely. She did her best to ignore it.

She flipped the page. Her hand slowed, hesitant, but the parchment still fluttered down given just a bit of time.

She didn’t hesitate to look at the page.

She blinked.

_ You are unwelcome. Please return this to  _ _ Harry James Potter _ _. _

She stared at the page for a long moment, feeling tempted to leave it there. 

But her curiosity wouldn’t let go of her that quickly.

She pressed her wand to the page, and hesitated. The easiest answer would be a simply  _ finite, _ but she wasn’t sure how that would work against multiple, layered enchantments.

In the end, it was on a whim that she decided to try out the newest spell in her arsenal.

_ “Alohomora.” _

There was an odd sound, a dull kind of  _ click. _

And the words faded, replaced with a page of untidy scrawls.

She felt a burst of irrational pride at having unraveled Harry’s spellwork. It, really, wasn’t a surprise - she always got the spells before him. But still, she had been beginning to feel a little insecure after Harry successfully cast one of the hardest spells in a grown wizard’s arsenal - an  _ unforgivable, _ no less.

But she was still the greatest witch of her generation.

Her eyes found the words (grimacing a little at the handwriting) and she began to read.

_ July 31st _

_ I feel this is as good an excuse as any to start a journal - finding that you have a vault full of riches to your name. _

She skimmed through the entry - nothing really interesting, and certainly not anything that might help her put together the puzzle of Harry. She flipped to the entry corresponding to the day after Halloween.

_ November 1st _

_ Hermione was in danger yesterday, after I made last entry. It is late (or early, I suppose, by now) when I’m writing this - I have much to get off my chest. _

_ She ran. I think some kids in my house were making fun of her again, though it may very well have been some of the Gryffindors. They are cruel, for those who are supposed to be heroes. _

_ I will find who caused this. She was crying. She doesn’t deserve that. _

_ A troll invaded the school. Nobody knows how it got in. I spent some time researching the Hogwarts wards - the only way it could’ve been let in is via a teacher. That leaves a narrow list of suspects, none of them ideal candidates. All the teachers have been here for years. _

_ The troll found Hermione. Hermione got trapped with it. _

_ I am glad that I learned to reign in my temper at the Dursleys, because otherwise I might have scared her. I fear I still did - I see the looks she gives me. I’m not sure if she’s afraid. I hope she isn’t, but optimism had never been my strong suit. _

_ I hope she isn’t. I really hope she isn’t. _

_ I killed the troll. Avada Kedavra. _

_ I feel no guilt over it. All I feel is a kind of distant pride. _

_ The thing needed to die. _

_ I am beginning to comprehend why people go to such lengths to avoid this kind of fear. To avoid hurting their friends. This fear is nothing like the fear of home - that fear is constant. Stable. Safe. _

_ This is a harder fear. A sludge of inky black nothingness, gripping at my lungs and cutting below my skin. _

_ I fear that Hermione no longer trusts me. I fear that she fears me. I fear that those looks I feel over the cover of my books are darting glances of terror. _

_ I fear. _

_ And the fear hurts. _

_ I will write again tomorrow. _

And, next to it, was a drawing. Of her.

It was… good.

Really good. Detailed enough that it was clear Harry had spent hours on it. She was rendered in painstaking detail, harsh black-and-whites leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the portrait.

She cried, ridden with guilt and shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially resolved the issue of Hermione's newfound wariness. Through the sparkling ingenuity of making one of my main characters cry with guilt.
> 
> This chapter wasn't as fun, but it was interesting. And important.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	10. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third year, after the whomping willow encounter.

The problem with being friends with Harry James Potter is that you could never know what to expect.

This, Draco thought, was a perfect summary of his friendship with Harry. They had their up and downs, of course, what friends didn’t - but, when it came down to it, the only real problem with associating with Harry is that he never did know what to expect.

Every year was an adventure when you were in the sphere of influence provided by Harry James Potter.

“Can’t I have  _ one _ year of peace?” He groaned. Harry just stared at him, as if the question he had just asked was an incomprehensible one.

“Dementors. You fought  _ dementors.” _

“Twenty or so.” Harry said simply, sitting on the ledge of the astronomy tower next to him. His spine was the loosest it had ever been since first year.

He looked drained.

_ “Twenty.” _

“Or so.”

“...Harry.” He deadpanned, giving his best friend a flat look.

“Draco.”

Draco buried his head in his hands, waiting for the world to dissolve into nothingness and for him to wake up in the blissful peace of the Slytherin dorms, with no speak of dementors for twenty miles.

It didn’t work.

“What about  _ Granger?” _

His tone came out harsher than he intended.

“What about her?”

“Well, she was there, presumably. She was there first year when you chased after that damn stone.”

“Nah. It was just me this time.”

Harry’s voice was empty and distant. Draco glanced over at him.

For the first time, he noticed that the lack of strength in the spine wasn’t the only thing that was off about Harry. His thumb was twitching faster than ever, his leg was jack-rabbiting, and his eyes had a distant, filmy look to them.

“...You alright?”

“Hm?”

“You seem…”

His sentence died.

“Tired?” Harry provided, glancing at him.

“Yeah.”

Harry stared into nothing for a while. Draco didn’t try to rush him.

“...Just… contemplating.”

“What’s up?”

Harry hesitated.

“I… I killed someone tonight, Draco.”

Draco stared at the broken boy on the ledge next to him, surrounded by the backdrop of the perfect starry sky, and shooed away the desire to laugh and ask why he was saying such ridiculous things.

Harry looked… awful, really. Thinner and paler then he had in years, cheeks gaunt and veins stark. And that blurry, dead blank stare.

“Not… Black?”

Harry blinked slowly.

“Oh, no, not him. He’s innocent.”

_ “What?!” _

Harry flinched, and he instantly reigned in his emotions.

“I’ll explain later.” Harry said flatly. His voice was dead.

Draco ignored the curiosity bubbling in his gut. The curiosity vanished when he noticed that Harry’s hands were trembling.

Because Harry’s hands  _ never _ trembled. Even back in second year, when they had went down into the chamber together, Harry’s hands had been steady as ever. His fingers twitched, but they didn’t  _ tremble. _

“...Your hands.” Draco said simply.

Harry glanced down at them, and blinked. He closed them into fists, knuckles whitening from the pressure.

“Good to know you care.” Harry said, with a bitter, sarcastic edge Draco hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Yeah. I do.”

The flint left Harry’s eyes in a moment. The tension vanished from his spine, and he seemed to unravel right there next to him.

He leaned against Draco, laying his head on the blonde’s shoulder.

Draco sat shock-still.

Harry  _ never _ initiated contact. He had gotten better with it, over the three years he had been at Hogwarts - he no longer pulled his wand on people when they tapped his shoulder, anyway. But it was  _ always _ someone else that had to initiate it - usually  _ Granger _ with her damn surprise hugs every time they reunited after a summer apart.

“I’m… I’m so  _ tired, _ Draco.”

He sounded so  _ old. _ So  _ weary. _

It wasn’t right. Harry was… was a  _ kid, _ just like he was, he shouldn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders yet.

And yet, it felt as though that was exactly what had caused him to tip.

...Well, Harry didn’t deserve that burden…

So Draco would just have to shoulder some of it for him.

His hands came up and rested on Harry’s head, combing through the unruly, dirt-streaked hair.

“I know.” He whispered.

_ “I know.” _

They simply sat there, staring out at the stars, for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't romantic. This isn't romantic. THIS. ISN'T. ROMANTIC.
> 
> Poor bapy Harry. I feel bad for our little muffin.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	11. Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Year, just before winter holidays.

“Hey, Harry.” She whispered. “Look.”

Harry glanced up from his book with filmy, hazy eyes, like he was just waking up. His head followed her line of sight, down the corridor of shelves to the figure of one Severus Snape.

The bat-like spectre wandered Hogwarts nearly as often as Filch did - which made sense, she supposed, considering he lived here. But there was something… off. The Professor she knew had a certain way of walking, like a wraith drifting over the ground, steps entirely silent. He’d have materialized behind you before you even began to worry and was taking points before you had time to hide the evidence of whatever rule you were breaking.

He also obviously revelled in this.

But there was something wrong with the way Professor Snape was moving now. It was too… normal, for lack of a better word. His steps a bit too slow and clumsy, his spine a bit too tense, his face a touch too pale. He looked… rather bad, actually.

“What do you think is up with Professor Snape?”

She glanced over at Harry, and nearly started.

Because Harry, her best friend with his head always in a book, had vanished suddenly - replaced with the Harry who killed a troll in cold blood.

Ever since she had sneakily returned the journal to Harry’s bag, her wariness had vanished, replaced only with a lingering guilt. But still, it was quite startling - and maybe even a little scary - how quickly and seemingly randomly Harry flip-flopped between the two.

“He’s limping.”

Harry’s voice had also regained that strong, confident note that sounded do different from her friend’s quiet tenor.

She blinked, and looked at the Professor again.

...Well, now that Harry mentioned it…

It was incredibly light, and quite hard to notice - but there  _ was _ just a tiny bit of a gallop-esque rhythm to his steps, and one of his feet seemed to fall heavier than the other.

“...Huh. You’re right. What do you think happened to him?”

And, when she glanced back, she could  _ see _ the thoughts running through Harry’s head at a million miles an hour. Little shades of considerations and points bubbled and flew in his eyes, and his pupils had dilated into black pits of nothingness, unaware of the world around him as he fell into contemplation.

“Uh… Harry?”

The haze over Harry’s eyes cleared, and he glanced at her.

“Hm?”

“What do you think happened to him?” She repeated, a little more clearly.

Harry blinked slowly at her, and shrugged.

“I’m thinking about it, but… I’m not really sure.”

His eyes returned to Professor Snape as he picked up his books and walked out of the library again.

“I’m not sure.” Harry repeated, quieter this time. His head tilted, slowly - like a curious cat.

“But I’m going to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry is cat boy.
> 
> This is just a tiny little something to tide you over and do a bit of settup. A little boring, I know, but I'll try to make next chapter more fun. Hey, we might even skip past third year soon - I have been wanting to write some Order of the Pheonix stuff.
> 
> Repeat, MIGHT. Don't count on it. My whims aren't exactly consistently lingering.
> 
> Having Fun.
> 
> -Howard R.


	12. Crater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year, after the Quirrell confrontation and just before the students leave.

He received a note at what was pretty much the last possible second.

He stared at the piece of parchment in his hands from a man he had never spoken to and wondered what the hell _this_ was about.

_Why can’t I have one moment of peace?_

Still, you didn’t ignore direct orders from the headmaster, so he set off to find the gargoyle described in the picture with a set mouth and straight spine.

Because he doubted this would go well.

* * *

“Ah, Harry! What a nice surprise seeing you here. Lemon drop?”

_You invited me._ He thought but didn’t say. Instead, he kept his tone as blank and flat as he could and said “Likewise, sir. No thanks.”

Dumbledore _tsked_ under his breath and looked a tad bit disappointed as he set the lemon drop back in the bowl.

“Take a seat, if you would.” Dumbledore said cheerily, flicking his wand and conjuring a plush armchair.

_Show off._

“We have several things to discuss, my boy.”

_‘My boy’?_

He didn’t dispute the choice of his address, though, because - again. Headmaster.

“Do we, sir?” He responded instead, trying to keep his tone polite because _he couldn’t think of a single thing they needed to discuss, thank you._

“Why yes, we do. For instance,”

Dumbledore turned his piercing gaze onto him.

“Professor Quirrell has vanished.”

Harry blinked at him, trying to look politely confused.

“Yes, sir, he has. You mentioned that at the feast.”

Dumbledore didn’t, apparently, seem fit to answer that. Instead, he leaned back, and crossed his hands over his stomach.

“Is there anything you would like to tell me, my boy?” He said genially, with a sparkle in his eye.

“...Anything, sir?” Harry responded, trying to keep a smile from his face.

“Yes, of course.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Dumbledore blinked, looking rather like he had been slapped. Harry repressed the strong urge to give him an evil grin.

“Ah, of course, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore answered politely, though the way his eyes flattened slightly spoke volumes. “My apologies.”

“No need to be sorry, sir.” Harry answered with a tone of utmost politeness, a grin still trying to tug at his lips.

...He really _had_ gotten better this year. Hermione had mentioned that in passing, at some point, before they chased after the stone - that he had gotten… _better._ That he was less twitchy, and that some of his ticks were less obvious.

_Though that damn thumb tapping will never go away._ She had finished with a roll of her eyes, as his thumb had started to do exactly that.

He had proceeded to ask why that meant he was ‘better’.

The conversation that followed had all been rather strained on Hermione’s end.

“Well, Mr. Potter, we _do_ have something important to discuss.” Dumbledore said, wrenching him from his reminiscing. He simply gave the headmaster a blank look.

“A little bird told me that you plan to change your place of residence this Summer.”

And Harry’s spine went taut as a bowstring.  
  


_Bullshit._

Because the only _little bird_ that knew about his plans to change his _place of residence_ was Snape - he had told the professor both because they had to know where to send his letter, and because they had, honestly, become something like friends over the course of the year - and Snape had promised not to tell Dumbledore a damn thing. And _Snape kept his promises._

It was something Harry was absolutely sure of.

He felt something fizz, low in his gut - it was a familiar sensation, now, ever since he had fought Voldemort down in that torch-lit corridor - and tried to control himself.

“Yes, sir?” He said instead, as politely as possible considering how fiercely pissed off he was.

“Well, I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

And there went any possible connection he and the headmaster could’ve had.

He _felt_ it vanish, _felt_ it kick up and ride the wind like sand or dust.

“Ah. Of course, sir.” He said.

Because there was no discussion here.

If Dumbledore had decided he couldn’t leave, then, well - what could he do about it?

And that, perhaps, was what pissed him off more then anything. That not only would the Headmaster not listen to him - that the Headmaster could _make that choice without him._

And that - even worse - he _had._

“Is that all? I have some last-minute packing to do.”

Dumbledore blinked.

“Don’t you want to hear why, Mr. Potter? Surely you… you don’t think I’m doing this for no reason?”

Harry ‘hm’ed in the back of his throat - because, while he was sure the Headmaster _did_ have a reason, it hardly mattered.

And he just _couldn’t_ pretend that it did because he was _bubbling over_ in rage and he was doing all he could to keep it locked up.

“This is for your own safety, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore said quietly, peering at him in a soft way that some students probably found drew up guilt better then anything else.

And Harry snapped. He felt it, low in his gut - even better, he _heard_ it. It had happened before, in the torch-lit corridor, facing the end of a wand whose owner had killed his parents - had condemned him to a life of torture - who was trying to _bargain_ with him, trying to get him to _hand over_ the stone, who was using his dead parents as _leverage…_

It was a dull kind of _crack_ \- like the muffled breaking of glass.

And he heard it again, as his rage folded in on itself and condensed into a hard, painful ball in his stomach, driving spikes into his lungs and forcing him onward.

The windows exploded.

Dumbledore startled in shock and glanced at the windows before rounding his gaze back to Harry. He wasn’t sure what expression his face had taken - it had hardly asked for his input - but he doubted it was a very friendly one.

“My _own. Safety?”_

His voice was a deadly whisper. Dumbledore was staring at him in pure shock.

He took a deep breath, and stood as calmly as he could manage. In a way, it worked - because his rage was what forced him to do this. His rage was forcing him to stand, lest he do something he would regret.

And his rage was a damn powerful driving force.

“Of course, sir.” He said, his voice completely empty of all emotion. Eerily so. “I’ll return to the Dursleys this Summer.”

Like he was a speaking corpse.

“I must go now. I have some last-minute packing to do.”

His words were perfectly rythmed. Clipped. Robotic.

He swept out the door as fast as he could, steps louder then they had been in six years, and vanished down the corridor before Dumbledore could say a word.

* * *

When the professors all made sure the school was in perfect order, the day after the students had all gone on the train, none of them could explain the massive crater in the wall, two turns away from the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a two-day break. Sorry about that. Hopefully the 1k long chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Harry is mad boy.
> 
> No, this fic will not contain Dumbledore bashing. Dumbledore isn't evil in this, just misguided. But Harry will hardly have a chance to see that for a long while, especially since Dumbledore so royally goofed up their first encounter.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	13. Running

He stopped.

There was the Dursley residence.

He could already feel it - could already  _ see _ it. Those  _ hands, hands everywhere, wrongwrongwrong, no stop, please, not the cupboard- _

The dark, cramped spaces that felt like they suffocated him. The burning smell of cleaning products and bleach, the perfectly polished floors, everything tightly controlled and organized. The house was like a mob boss - putting on a polished buisnessman front to hide the havoc he caused on men’s lives.

The house was perfectly fine, until you found the dirty, curled up, bleeding child in the cobweb-draped cupboard.

_...Dumbledore. _

The name entered his head slowly, cushioned by the fog of malevolence.

_ HE did this. HE made me come here. _

_ I would’ve been fine, anywhere else. On my own. I have enough money. _

_ But no. ‘Good Headmaster Dumbledore’ decided I had to go back here. _

...And he couldn’t.

He stood on the threshold of the house, hands trembling just the tiniest bit, and just…  _ couldn’t. _

He turned, and - for the first time he could remember - ran for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a three day break.
> 
> Sorry about that.
> 
> Harry is the poorest of poor babies. Our little muffin will be better soon; promise.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	14. Near-Comatose

Now, when Hermione heard a knock on the door and her mom told her to open it from the kitchen, she had had a few (in her opinion, fairly reasonable) expectations for whomever might be out there.

First, she expected it to be an adult.

Second, she expected it to be someone she didn’t know.

And third - and perhaps most importantly - she expected them to be in perfectly good health.

But, of course - as often happened with all things related to Harry - none of these expectations were met.

Because,  _ of course, _ the person standing in the doorway was a child that, for the shortest, scariest moment, she didn’t recognize.

Long, dirty blood-stained hair, rags for clothes, sunburnt on seemingly random patches of his skin and clutching his hip - exposed by a cut in his shirt to show a gash which she was fairly certain was starting to get infected already - he hardly looked like the quiet bookworm she had come to know so well.

But the moment he looked up, all the oddities of the situation made sense.

Her gasp was one of horror.

  
“H -  _ Harry?” _

And Harry Potter did the fourth most infuriating thing he would ever do.

He smiled his weakest, most broken smile, whispered,

_ “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” _

And passed out cold.

She caught him - he was light enough to cause her concern to go up another notch - and stood in the doorway in a state of near-comatose shock.

  
And that -  _ of course _ \- was how her mom found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor bapy Harry will probably be getting a little better past this point - meaning this chapter and the next will probably be the peak of angst, and then it'll all start being good.
> 
> This fic has existed for exactly one week. I am honestly shocked by the way it has rocketed in popularity in that time.
> 
> I mean, a thousand hits in one week? It usually takes me a month to get that many hits, minimum! Not to mention the amount of kudos and comments.
> 
> You guys are the best.
> 
> Having Fun (And Grateful As Hell),
> 
> -Howard R.


	15. Hospital

“Alright, you can see him now.”

Instantly, Hermione sprung to her feet, rushing past the nurse and ignoring her parents. She flew into the white-stained room, the smell of cleaning products thick in the air, and flung herself at Harry.

She hugged him. Tightly.

And, a moment before she could start babbling about how  _ worried _ she had been, she registered that Harry had frozen completely. An image flashed in her mind; piercing, utterly cold green eyes, sharper than daggers, bubbling with danger as they speared through her.

_ “Don’t touch me.” _

Instantly, she leapt back, a blush crawling up her face. Her eyes darted to the floor.

“Sorry.” She squeaked.

When Harry didn’t respond, she dared a glance up.

His face was… not what she expected. His eyes weren’t bubbling with malice, his lips weren’t pulled into a sneer.

Instead, his eyes were wide and frozen. They… it was hard to describe the emotion in them. The corner of his mouth was pulled back, like he was grimacing, but it turned up a little, a facsimile of a smile.

Hermione hadn’t known that one human ear could twitch entirely independently of the other.

He shook his head the tiniest bit, like he was shaking off a cobweb he had walked into, and his eyes drained of that indefinable emotion. “It’s fine.” He said, in that quiet tone of scraping steel that she hadn’t realized she had already grown to miss.

There was a short, awkward pause.

“I was so  _ worried!” _ She exclaimed, launching into her planned speech without noticing her parents walking in. “What happened? How did you get that cut? Are you okay?”

She repressed the urge to press a hand to his forehead and check for fever.

“Calm down, ‘Mione, don’t swamp him.” Dad chuckled, sitting down in a nearby chair.

“So.” Mom said, peering down at Harry with shrewd eyes.

_ Uh oh. _

“You’re this Harry character we’ve heard so much about?”

Instantly, Dad gave up all pretenses in being involved. He usually let Mom handle the emotional stuff.

Hermione felt a little anxiety twist in her gut, as Harry met Mom’s stare.

“Yes’m.” He answered.

“I do hope you can explain why you stumbled into our house, dirty and bleeding?” Mom went on, raising a sharp eyebrow at him.

Her tone made it clear that he best go ahead and do exactly that.

“I…”

Harry trailed off, averting his eyes. Mom looked unimpressed.

“I ran away from home.” He said finally, a note of steel entering his voice. As if daring her to question his decision.

Hermione blinked.

“I…” She stepped up next to his bed, pulling up a chair. Harry’s eyes instantly redirected to her, ignoring Mom entirely.

“I thought Headmaster Dumbledore told you to stay?” She whispered.

She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

On the one hand, it was  _ Dumbledore.  _ Harry shouldn’t have done something he was explicitly told not to do by  _ Dumbledore. _

But, on the other hand…

She couldn’t help the image that flashed in her mind every time she thought that. Harry, standing in that torch-lit room, holding a potion bottle.

He was about to drink it. Step up to face whoever was trying to steal the stone.

And, even though she had just drank her own potion, and she knew her time to run away and get help was limited, she couldn’t help but let her eyes pass over him one last time.

He had slugged the potion back.

And his sleeve had fallen back.

That bare arm, covered in scars, wouldn’t leave her mind, no matter how hard she tried to shoo it.

Harry stared at her for a long moment. For the first time she could remember, his eyes were wide, and impossibly  _ vulnerable. _

“I couldn’t.”

His voice was the barest of whispers, harsh and prickly and drenched in weakness.

She felt an ice-cold tack prick at her heart. She fumbled for his hand without thinking.

And yet, when her fingers laced through his, he didn’t jerk back sharply. He simply squeezed her hand, eyes beginning to drain of that awful greyness that made him look like a rabbit caught in a trap.

Unseen, her parents exchanged a meaningful glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's a scared boy. Lots of love for our little muffin.
> 
> The better LoL. I just wanna give Harry a hug. Little bapy deserves it.
> 
> This story is officially my most popular one to date. Honestly, I think it might also be my favorite, though I've barely been working on it a week. I love our little muffins.
> 
> Hermione, nominated for best girl award 2020.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.
> 
> P.S. Just noticed this fic has now passed 10k words. Das cool.


	16. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Year, just after Harry goes to confront Quirrell.

“Professor!”

Professor Snape glanced up, and - understandably - looked more than a bit surprised to see Hermione leaning against his doorway, panting heavily and with blood dripping from her head, in the dead of night.

“Ms. Granger, it is past curfew.”

Hermione knew the only reason he had yet to take points was probably that she was a friend of Harry’s. He and Professor Snape had developed something of a bond, though the exact nature of said bond was nigh impossible for Hermione to grasp at from the way they interacted. Snape seemed to revel in asking him questions far above his grade level, and, for some reason, always seemed disappointed when Harry knew the answer. It was only during those classes that she had ever seen Harry  _ smug, _ and he seemed intent on sending tiny, thoughtless barbs at the Potions Professor whenever possible.

When she had asked about his and Professor Snape’s animosity, he had  _ laughed _ \- a reaction so rare for him that she had been genuinely startled - and told her that he and Professor Snape were on perfectly good terms.

And it was now that that thoughtless little statement really sunk in for Hermione. 

Because Harry had told her to go and get help - not from Dumbledore, or the first professor she saw - but from Professor Snape, and  _ only _ Professor Snape.

Though why he had asked that was a mystery to her.

“Harry told me -  _ huff _ \- to get you.”

She tried to catch her breath. The way Professor Snape instantly lost all hints of snark, and stood like a man with a mission, spoke volumes.

“What for?”

“He’s gone -  _ puff _ \- after the stone.”

Professor Snape’s eyes sharpened into dagger-fine points.

_ “Foolish boy.” _ He whispered under his breath, so quiet Hermione was almost sure she hadn’t been meant to hear. “How far has he gotten?”

“Last room.” She breathed. “Past your riddle. We think someone else got there first, though.”

_ “Shit.” _ He hissed. “Potter, you will be the death of me.”

He swept past her, orders thrown imperiously over his shoulder.

“Tell Madam Pomfrey to ready the infirmary, on my orders. Inform her that it is a code six, from me. She will know what you mean. Do  _ not _ get caught.”

And he vanished down a corridor, the sweep of his robes the only sound in the cavernous hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may yet post another chapter today - though it's unlikely - but I thought I'd inform you that there will be no chapter tomorrow. I'm doing some Fourth of July stuff with my significant other, so... yeah.
> 
> Snape is best guy. I have to write more of him.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	17. Generations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third year, train ride.

“There you are Harry.”

Draco swept forward on quick feet to his best friend, but froze up completely when he noticed  _ Granger _ standing next to him. Granger’s eyes sharpened, and her shoulders went taut with tension.

Harry blinked at the sudden shift in the tone, before readjusting himself and turning to Granger.

“Hermione, you wouldn’t mind if I went off with Draco to get a compartment? Leave you to say your goodbyes, and all.”

Granger glanced back at her parents, spine still stiff with anxiety. She hesitated for a long moment before relenting.

“Be safe, won’t you?” She didn’t even  _ try _ to hide the darting glance she sent Draco, who bristled.

“Always.” Harry answered, with his usual distance. Granger sent him a parting smile, and vanished -  _ thank Merlin. _

“What the hell was  _ she _ doing here?” He hissed, tone bubbling. Harry blinked at him.

“She came over to my place for the last week of the Summer.” He tilted his head. “Didn’t I mention that in my letters?”

He hadn’t.

“She  _ what?!” _ Draco just barely managed to keep his voice lower than a shriek. 

“She came over to my place for the last week of the Summer.” Harry repeated obediently, which caused the now familiar urge to slap him to resurface in Draco’s bubbling gut.

“Why?!”

“...Because we’re friends?” Harry answered, in a politely confused tone. “Isn’t that what friends do?”

Draco just managed to choke off his furious response.

He was letting his emotions run away with him.

“Just…  _ whatever. _ Let’s find a compartment.” His tone fell dead flat, and he turned in a sweeping arc to head off to the train. He started, the tiniest bit, when Harry seemed to suddenly materialize right next to him, before berating himself for his own idiocy. He had forgotten that the boy’s steps were damn near silent.

* * *

“Urgh, I  _ knew _ I should’ve arrived earlier.  _ This _ is the only one that isn’t full.”

Draco’s disgust was clear in his tone. Harry sent him a glance which he could only read as  _ fond, _ which made him bristle.

“Don’t give me that look - tell me you aren’t disgusted by…  _ that.” _

He gestured to the sleeping man in tattered robes as they sat down on the bench opposite him. Harry rolled his eyes, and answered,

_ “That _ is probably our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the year. His name’s on the suitcase.”

“R. J. Lupin.” Draco read, and snorted. “‘Lupin’? He’s probably a mud - muggleborn too, then.” He quickly corrected himself. As they had all learned to do around Harry.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“And?”

Draco felt a now familiar itchy heat crawl up his neck, and glanced away.

“Er - nothing.”   
  


“Mmm.” Harry hummed nondescriptly.

In hindsight, it should’ve occurred to Draco that the man might not have  _ actually _ been sleeping - but, in his defence, he had been a child of barely thirteen at the time.

“So - did you hear about the dementors?”

Harry’s eyes sharpened. The boy really wasn’t very good at hiding his excitement with creatures - he had seemed fascinated by them ever since… well,  _ ever, _ and dementors weren’t exactly easy to come by.

“Dementors?”

“Yeah - they’re bringing them in to hunt for Black, apparently.”

They had discussed Black’s escape in their frequent letters. Harry had, somehow, already been well aware of Black’s transgressions - though, for some reason, he had seemed oddly adverse to talking about him.

And apparently Draco’s ability to read between the lines of Harry’s letters was just as adept as he had hoped - because Harry’s expression closed up  _ fast. _

“Oh.”

“I meant to ask about that, by the way.”

_ Please flinch, please flinch, please flinch. _

He had yet to garner such a massive emotional reaction from the boy.

“Why are you so against talking about Black?”

Harry’s expression didn’t even twitch.

_ Damn. _

“I’ve just been doing some digging in my free time.” Harry answered cryptically.

_ Damn! _

And, though he knew it was likely a lost cause, he tried to pry.

“What about?”

But,  _ of course, _ Harry simply smiled that  _ infuriating _ cryptic smile of his, and changed the subject.

Nobody thought to glance at Lupin’s face, and thus, nobody noticed when his expression twitched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return.
> 
> I had a great July Fourth. Spent it with my significant other - had some hot cocoa and did some swimming for the first time in years. I was bone-tired by the end of the day, but I've gotten a relaxing twelve hours of sleep to make up for it.
> 
> I'm not a massive fan of this chapter, but whatevs. It gets the point across, and it's mostly settup anyway. And I like forcing you to wait longer for the resolution back in first year.
> 
> And yes, I am switching between just first and third year. They're both very good, and early enough that I won't mess up anything for myself later down the road.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	18. Fluffy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third year, early - but the specific time hardly matters.

“Harry, could you  _ please _ get your dog to leave me alone?”

Draco was above pleading, of course, but he couldn’t help but sympathize with Theo’s request.

Harry had never had a pet, before this year. It wasn’t something Draco had ever come to question - though, in hindsight, perhaps he should’ve questioned it. Harry was an animal lover, after all, it would only make sense for him to get an owl or something, and Draco was beginning to fervently regret not getting the boy a pet sooner because now, in payment for his transgressions, the gods had sicced Potter’s crazy mutt upon them.

Black, shaggy fur that never seemed to stop shedding on  _ everything _ they owned, razor sharp teeth that glinted in the light, and fierce, glittering eyes that always found them. Legs powerful enough that they could never run away.

The dog was a beast, and absolute maniac.

And so -  _ of course _ \- Harry loved it.

“Padfoot, you aren’t harassing my friends again, are you?” Harry answered sardonically, peeking over the edge of a book from the corner of the common room. The damned dog didn’t even seem to hear him.

“Welp, I tried.” Harry said, resigned, as if the dog didn’t follow every order he gave to the letter.

_ “Harry.” _ Draco tried, giving him his best  _ come on _ look.

The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, but finally obliged.

“Alright, come off it, Pads. Leave ‘em alone.”

The dog seemed  _ very _ reluctant to do so, but obliged, sitting down and looking docile and innocent as possible.

“There. Happy?”

“Why in Merlin’s name did you get such a  _ horrible _ beast as a pet?” Theo squeaked, stumbling away from the aforementioned horrible beast when it bared its teeth at him in response.

Harry smirked.

“Because I knew you would all have this reaction?” He offered.

“No, you aren’t  _ that _ evil.” Draco answered. 

Harry shrugged and returned to his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that my baby boy deserved some fluff.
> 
> I took a day long break. Sorry bout that. To make up for it, I'll probably release another chapter later today.
> 
> Don't count on it, though. I'm quite fickle.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	19. So is &^#(@

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Hogwarts.

She never was sure whether to be unsettled by Harry.

It was an odd sensation - the one that seemed to pulse in her stomach when she looked at the boy in question. Long, black, greasy hair that fell past his shoulders, and those glittering death green eyes. That term had occurred to her, long ago - _death green_. It was one of those things that, once it occurs to you and burrows into your head, you can never get rid of it.

The shade would forever be known as _death green,_ as far as she was concerned.

The sensation wasn’t quite an unpleasant one. Though, again, she never was sure whether to be unsettled by the boy. It was just… odd, in a way that she couldn’t put her finger on. Like the sensation of flour and water mixed together. Yielding, sandy, like quicksand. All these things that can’t describe an emotion, and yet, were the only ones she could think off to describe the one in her stomach. The one that pulsed when she looked at the boy.

His death green eyes.

They seemed to follow her, when they were in the same building. The library. It was the only place she ever saw him. Never out and about - just in the library, surrounded by those towering shelves of pine that seemed to loom over her. Just the library - nowhere else.

He wasn’t young enough.

That was the problem, really. That he wasn’t young enough. His body was too small, but his fingers were long. His veins stood out, risen, in a way she never saw on children. And his _eyes._

Children’s eyes didn’t come in that shade.

Unsettling, perhaps, but she never quite felt unsettled. It was why she still wasn’t sure whether she should’ve.

He wasn’t young.

His _eyes_ weren’t young.

And yet, he was. His skin was. His body was. His stature was.

His walk wasn’t.

Too silent. Too smooth. Rolling off the ground in waves, pitter-pattering without a sound. Like roiling darkness. Like he was floating, or like his steps swept just above the place they should’ve fallen.

She should’ve been unsettled.

She wasn’t.

It occurred to her, many times later, that she might have been attracted. Not quite in a lustful kind of way - though it also occurred to her many times that it was a bit too close to be anywhere near normal. No, attracted more in the way that she wanted to _dissect_ him.

Not that she was the kind of person to dissect children.

Was he even a child?

His eyes weren’t the eyes of children. His walk wasn’t, either. His _hands_ weren’t.

He wasn’t quite young enough, and it _fascinated_ her.

His eyes once found her’s, in those calm library afternoons when she had taken to watching him. Watching the way his eyes wandered over the pages of books too large for him, glittering and rolling and sweeping like darkness. Like air. Filling the space on the page like it was pushing at the text he had yet to read.

Like empty space. Filling everything that wasn’t already full.

Those eyes found her - death green, as always, the words wouldn’t leave her head - and he had stared at her for a long, long moment.

He had walked over, eventually. Steps rolling like waves. Too silent. Too smooth.

He had offered her his hand.

She wasn’t sure why she had accepted it. Why she hadn’t questioned the offer.

His _eyes._

The cold had crawled under her skin and stayed there for weeks. Rolling and wriggling like worms. Filling her.

He had looked at her with those death green eyes, as the cold had seeped - no, had _crawled_ from his skin to her’s. _Under_ her’s.

“Can you feel it?”

His whisper was quite. Rolling. Smooth.

His voice wasn’t quite young enough, either.

  
_“Yes.”_

Her response was awfully stumbling and jerking in comparison.

He had smiled the widest, most beautiful smile she had ever seen.

And, suddenly, he _was_ young enough. Like that response had caused the sun that was his youth to peek out from the clouds and shine down on her.

_“Magic.”_ He had whispered, voice just as young as his smile all of a sudden.

She didn’t understand.

Maybe she couldn’t.

“What’s your name?” He had whispered, voice still light and airy and _young._

She had given it.

“I’m Harry.” He had responded.

“That’s a nice name.”

He had smiled at her.

“So is **█████**.”

She smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, whenever I write fluff, I have to make up for it by immediately writing something very confusing with sinister overtones.
> 
> So many questions - and we finally get larger implications about Harry and his weirdness then the little hints so far.
> 
> Yes, my dear readers - there is more to this story than little one-shots and angst. There is something bigger to be found once we put this picture together.
> 
> And we finally get a glimpse of what that bigger picture may yet be.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	20. The Right Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second Year, near end.

The first time he had ever seen Harry angry was second year.

Now, Draco was sure that Harry had probably been angry at some point before that. He had heard about the state of the final chamber - the one Harry had told him about meeting Voldemort in.

Draco had never been quite as afraid of the name as his parents, but he had grown up with the stigma of Voldemort’s reign hanging over him.

And the name had never unsettled him quite like it did when Harry said it.

The way it…  _ rolled, _ off his tongue. It was a phrase that Draco had heard, and even used, many times in the past. But he had never seen it brought to life the way Harry had. The way it seemed to  _ swell, _ in the air, how Harry’s lips formed the word so completely, totally perfectly, the way the syllables seemed to taper off and then  _ pulse _ up, the way that ‘l’ seemed to roll and  _ hiss. _

_ Voldemort. _

Draco felt a cold, dreadful, phantom moisture drip down his spine when Harry said it, slow and creeping like ectoplasm.

He resolved to never say the word again.

But the point was, Harry had mentioned meeting Vol-  _ you-know-who _ in that final chamber. And every single student in the school knew what it had looked like, and the mysterious pile of organic matter that had been in the center, not even recognizable as a corpse anymore.

A  _ warzone, _ had been the most common term used to describe it.

Harry had given him a blank look when he used that term, and said,

“Of course it was. After all, this  _ is _ a war, Draco.”

And Harry had given a cold, Slytherin smile after saying that, which made yet another chill drip down his spine.

“It’s good that you’re on the right side of it.”

Sometimes, Draco thought privately, Harry really was quite terrifying.

But he had never seen Harry  _ angry. _

Until second year, of course.

It had been about time to have Quidditch practice, when Snape had appeared to tell them that, apparently, the practice was cancelled. None of them had dared to complain, with the dungeon bat hovering over them, eyes glittering with warning and told them to leave.

_ All except Malfoy and Potter, _ he had added.

Harry wasn’t on the team. He had seemed… distantly amused, by the idea of flying with brooms.

_ Must be a muggle thing, _ Draco had decided.

And, though Harry was odd, Draco was convinced he was a good friend - if only because he still came to the practices in second year and onwards, just to watch him fly.

Harry had given Snape a curious look, but had filed in front of him with Draco. The second everyone else was gone, Snape’s open disdain…  _ shifted _ oddly.

It was, instead, an expression of some odd combination he had never seen on his godfather’s face. Though Snape kept his emotion so well tamped down that Draco never would’ve noticed it, if he hadn’t known the man so well.

“There has been another attack.” Snape had said flatly. Draco blinked, unsure why this information would need to be relayed personally.

When he glanced over at Harry, there was dawning realization and dread on his face. When Snape glanced at the green-eyed boy, his slight grimace was one of sympathy, not disgust.

“Ms. Granger was the victim.”

And Draco would swear to his dying day that, for the shortest moment, Harry’s eyes had  _ actually,  _ _ genuinely _ caught fire.

Like,  _ caught fire. _

As in, set alight. Became points of searing light. Etcetera.

Literally.

The flames vanished a moment later, and the only trace they left was in the glittering green irises of the boy’s eyes.

They seemed to…  _ writhe. _ Like they were trying to escape the bonds of his cochlea.

“Is she dead.”

Harry’s voice was sharp and deadly. Demanding.

An image flashed in Draco’s mind - Harry, standing in the middle of a bathroom, holding a fully grown troll at wand point.

_ Avada Kedavra. _

Harry’s voice had the exact same tone.

Snape seemed surprised by the question.

“No.” He said, peering at Harry intently - as if trying to dissect why that had been his first question. “Simply petrified.”

The answer didn’t seem to appease Harry. His irises continued to writhe with malice.

“Good.”

For some reason, Draco got the distinct impression that Harry meant,  _ good for whoever did that. _

_ Maybe I’ll let them die quickly, _ was the next phrase he imagined coming from Harry’s mouth in that hypothetical.

“Draco?” Harry turned to him. He almost flinched back - the boy’s gaze was sharp as a dagger, and seemed to burn his skin and make his flesh crawl.

Crawl with some cold, itchy, wriggling force.

The feeling wouldn’t dissipate for quite a bit.

“Come on.”

Harry didn’t try to disguise his intent. That was an  _ order, _ and Draco was to treat it as such.

He felt that cold feeling just under his skin wriggle in what might have been content, when he followed the boy without uttering a word.

Suddenly, though, in the middle on an abandoned hallway - Draco took a moment to note that Snape hadn’t tried to stop or accompany them - Harry stopped, a line of tension running through his shoulders.

He spoke without turning.

“We’re going to kill someone, Draco.”

Draco blinked at the news.

“I’m not going to force you to come along. I would appreciate it - but I ask not for children to kill in my stead.”

Harry’s voice had taken on an odd timbre - for some odd reason, he could’ve sworn there was a whiff of lilac coming off him, too.

“...You’re a child too, Harry.” He said quietly, though his voice was less sure then he intended.

Harry didn’t respond for a long moment.

“...Yes. I am. But my point stands.” He finally turned around, and his eyes had this odd,  _ soft _ quality too them. Strangely yielding.

The image, unbidden, of Harry on his knees before him popped into his head. He dismissed it quickly, unsure why it had even occurred to him.

“Would you like to help me take revenge?”

For some reason, he felt that the question was far,  _ far _ more important then Harry was making it seem.

Like… like this was deciding his fate. Deciding which side of some battle - or war, even - he was going to fall on.

He wasn’t sure what they were fighting for. He wasn’t even sure if that impression had any grounds or weight.

...Either way…

If there  _ was _ a war…

Draco certainly wasn’t going to oppose Harry in it.

“Yes.”

And the word echoed with the tying of a knot - a promise, sealed forever.

Harry smiled at him, and swept off again - clearly expecting him to follow.

He didn’t hesitate to fulfill those expectations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco has made the right choice. He may yet be a good boy.
> 
> Harry is still maybe not human. Anyone out there wanna take a guess at what Harry might be? I've gotten Fae and Changeling so far, and it's really fun to watch people speculate what's up with our bapy.
> 
> And I've decided to hold off for a little bit on what's up with the girl from last chapter. She'll be back, though - I wouldn't start up a mystery like that and never resolve it.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	21. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Hogwarts.

It wasn’t that she had intended to become friends with the boy.

It wasn’t quite… intentional, though.

Harry - if that really was his name, which she began to doubt more and more as she spent more time with him - spent so much time in the library that missing each other was practically impossible. And his eyes - _those death green eyes, impossible to look away from_ \- always somehow managed to find her whenever he stepped in, as if he had some kind of mental link to her.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have shocked her much.

Harry, for some reason, seemed just as fascinated by her as she was by him. Though he took his time actually _testing_ with her, instead of just studying her.

She was never quite sure whether he was hitting on her, intentionally or not. She decided, eventually, that it was unlikely - Harry seemed an asexual sort.

She had been dead wrong, of course, but it would take her a bit of time to realize that.

Their conversation rarely managed to be anything close to normal. Especially since Harry actually _was_ magic. He proved it to her the very day after he had met her, conjuring a tiny ice blue flame in his hand for a split-second before it vanished.

She was 13 when she and him first talked. When she eventually succumbed to the urge to ask how old he was, he had given her a slightly odd, clouded look, before saying he was ten.

It didn’t begin to become a studying kind of relationship until after he was eleven. But Harry, even before then, never seemed capable of looking away from her when they were talking. His eyes would seek out her’s, seeming to drink in what she had always thought to be the plainest blue irises.

They had a very honest kind of dynamic, which was why she had simply asked, once, why he stared at her like that.

He had _smiled._ The real smile, too, not the one he pasted on for strangers - the one that finally made him look totally human, made his entire face light up with youth.

“You have magic in your eyes.” He had said, staring at them still.

She, once again, wondered for a moment if he was hitting on her, but decided he meant it literally.

“I’m not magic.” She had said quietly, only the smallest touch of disappointment in her voice.

Harry had stared at her for a long moment - so long she had begun to wriggle in her seat and wonder if she might’ve offended him - before reaching forward suddenly.

She decided not to resist as his hands pried her mouth open. One of them reached forward slightly, and gripped at one of her teeth-

_Ah!_

She jerked slightly in his hands, and noticed the tiniest little _spark_ run down his wrist. Harry jerked a little, too, and his pupils dilated oddly for a moment.

She wasn’t quite sure what the sensation that had passed through her teeth and into her eyes had been. It wasn’t quite _painful,_ but it was certainly… sharp. And it had this odd kind of _crackling_ feel to it, like boiling oil - those same sharp little cracks of thick bubbles popping on the surface.

It only occurred to her, years later, that the sensation had aroused her.

Harry pulled back, letting go of her teeth and relaxing in his seat. She only really noticed just how strongly his pupils had dilated when they contracted again - that black pit of infinite strangeness thinning and sharpening until it was just a tiny hole, punched in the fabric of reality.

“Then what was that?”

“...Magic.” She quietly admitted, running a hand against her jaw - slightly numb from the spark. “But that went from you to me, so it doesn’t prove anything.”

Harry simply turned his arm over and pulled his sleeve up.

She stared. Not at the tiny black scorch mark that had been left by… whatever had left her and climbed up his arm. 

No, not at that - odd as it was.

Instead, she stared at the thin, white pattern of scars there.

“See?” Harry said, seemingly unconcerned about the scars. “Magic. I _knew_ you had it.”

“...Harry?”

Her voice came out weaker then she had intended.

“Yes?”

“What… what’s your home life like?”

And, again, it was likely only because they had such an open dynamic that he instantly responded.

“Awful. Don’t try to change the subject.” He answered, as she stared back at his flippant attitude about an abusive home life. “You’re magic, █████. Your eyes are magic, your flesh is magic…”

He stared off towards some unknown point, eyes filled with whispers of thoughts she couldn’t fathom.

“I thought I was the only one…” He whispered.

She was struck, suddenly, by how lonely that must have been.

“But now I have you.”

His voice was soft, and unbearably _admiring._ His hands came up and grasped at her’s, holding onto it with long, pale fingers. His eyes seemed to bubble.

His hands shifted slightly, and she felt that same sensation crawl under her skin - _magic,_ she now knew - wriggling and cold and slightly itchy.

And yet, it didn’t seem so uncomfortable, now that she wasn’t trying to fight it. It was almost… _friendly._

“We’re magic, █████. And we’re going to change to world together.”

She stared back, into those bubbling death green eyes, and thought.

Thought of what they could _do._

Thought of what…

What _she_ could do.

“I… do you really think…?”

Harry smiled at her. Not the happy, gleeful one that made him seem unbearably _human._ No, this was… different.

He didn’t quite look human - not totally, not with the way those eyes sparkled with something she couldn’t understand - but he did look…

Soft. Open.

Trusting.

_Vulnerable._

“We’ll change the world, █████.”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, I write all these with the name I have in mind already down and then replace them with the redacted version - which is why that block of black shows up more often then it did last time.
> 
> We're adding vampire to the pile of possible creatures. Anyone else wanna make their bet known?
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	22. Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth year, first week.

Harry stopped wearing the school uniform in fourth year.

Nobody had really seemed to know how to react when he did. He wore the most simplistic of muggle clothes, including a brown leather jacket that hugged at his form, a loose black t-shirt, and plain jeans with tears at the knees. He had let his hair grow out a bit during the summer, too - it hung past his shoulders, and he tied it back into a tail, scar on display for the first time… well,  _ ever. _

It was clear that none of the teachers quite knew what to do. Harry had been a model - if dreadfully average - student, and it was clear that no one wanted to directly confront him on the subject.

The female part of the student body, however, did know how to react. In a decidedly positive fashion.

Slytherins had gained a stigma, of course, that kept some students from ever wanting to approach Harry - but he had proven himself as heroic, rugged, dependable, and that Slytherin stigma gave him a certain bad-boy appeal that clearly appealed to any and all of the growing young women in the school.

Hermione wasn’t among this group of students, of course, but she found herself blinking slightly at how her friend had suddenly become desirable in the course of one Summer.

Still, she found it decidedly pathetic that so many people were so…

Stupidly romantic.

Harry managed to get an entire week breaking all the simplest rules of Hogwarts before anyone confronted him on it. It was clear that none of the teachers - Professor Snape, whose job it was, least of all - wanted to try and get him to back down. He rarely got in trouble, but his stubbornness was  _ legendary. _

He only broke the tiny, fundamental rules, too, which helped. Not wearing the school uniform was simply the beginning.

Her personal favorite example, if only because of how everyone reacted, was probably when Harry had walked into the hall in the middle of lunch and sat right next to her.

At the  _ Gryffindor _ table.

The people around her - which wasn’t a small amount, considering nearly everyone attended lunch - had all stared at him as he had put food she knew he was unlikely to eat on his plate, before cracking open a book. As if he hadn’t done a thing out of the ordinary.

“Uh… Potter…”

Harry glanced up at Percy, who was clearly trying to find a polite way to tell him off. The prefect in question, though, was clearly disoriented at having Harry’s dagger-sharp gaze suddenly locked onto him, and lost his train of thought.

“This is the  _ Gryffindor _ table, mate.” Ron said suddenly, clearly not as worried about politeness. He sneered. “Get back with your slimy nest-mates, eh?”

Harry had turned to him, and Hermione could tell the  _ exact _ moment Ron looked into his eyes. How the angry flush dripped from his face into paleness, even though Harry wasn’t even  _ close _ to glaring at him yet.

“Snakes aren’t slimy. They're smooth.” Harry had answered softly.

And went back to reading.

There was a long pause, during which it was clear nobody wanted to object to Harry’s choice of seat - Harry, about whom rumours of dark magic abounded.

“Uh… it’s against the rules to sit at this table.”

Harry turned to Neville as Hermione spent a moment to blink at him in surprise. She had never quite had the time to notice the quiet boy, but she remembered him being more… cowardly, for lack of a better word.

But Neville clearly had gained a bit of backbone. And, to her shock, he stood firm - well, mostly firm - under Harry’s piercing gaze.

“...You’re the Longbottom heir.”

Neville blinked at the address.

“Er - yeah.”

Harry tilted his head slightly.

“That makes you my godhalf-brother.”

Neville’s brain clearly took a moment to re-boot, and Harry returned to his book as it did.

“Uh… what?”

Harry looked up again.

“Your mother is my godmother.”

Neville paled slightly at the reminder.

“...Why should I move, brother?”

And Neville clearly had nothing left to say.

Harry went back to reading.

* * *

After six more attempts from various sources, nobody tried to get him to leave again. Gave it up as a lost cause - talked about how he was probably so unhinged that he didn’t even know that they were saying.

From then on, Harry switched between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables as he pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally just get some casual fluff to offset the talk of wars and nameless women.
> 
> Our list of possible creatures is expanding. We've added part-angel and personification of death to the list.
> 
> As a side note, I've been listening to a ton of music while writing recently - it's why I've gotten a whole three chapters done today. And so, I hereby suggest the work of one Shady Cicada. I watch his twitch streams, too - he's great. Check him out if you've got some time.
> 
> Channel Link: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-90KuSWRVLImW4xHWFYMnQ  
> Music Link: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL64iUk_jyLM7oExCSnZacxj4F0QTF7c7n
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	23. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Hogwarts

She had only known him a month, and yet, she already couldn’t imagine a life without Harry.

The boy came in to the library every day. She had stopped wondering why his guardians let him without supervision long ago, and, as a matter of fact, had mostly given up on the matter of Harry’s abusive home life. Whenever she mentioned it, Harry pulled out the rare ‘don’t want to talk about that’, which they had agreed would instantly cut the topic of conversation at hand and go to a new one.

They had their own little system, when it came to talking. They needed to, really, because it was clear that Harry had no idea how to talk to people in a normal environment, and had quite a bit of trouble articulating himself.

She was also somewhat shocked to learn that he was touch-starved.

She wasn’t quite sure if it was because he was a touchy-feely person by nature or because of the way those little blue tendrils  _ sparked _ whenever they made contact, but, either way, Harry instantly unravelled into a relaxed state through a simple touch. After a while they had given up on sitting at a table across from each other constantly and, instead, sat in the same chair once or twice a week, doing what could only be described as  _ cuddling. _

She didn’t know what people assumed when they saw, and honestly didn’t care.

She found that Harry’s magic, those cold, wriggling worms that seemed to crawl under her skin whenever they made contact for too long, warmed up quite quickly if you didn’t try to fight it. And soon enough, she found that having Harry asleep in her arms was an incredibly enjoyable activity - because of the way his magic almost unconsciously seemed drawn to her, and how it wriggled under her skin and gave her this odd, bubbly feeling - like she was a tall glass of sparkling water.

And Harry was so  _ relaxed _ whenever they did this, too, in a way she never saw outside of those select days. It was why he fell asleep so quickly, she was almost sure, along with general sleep deprivation. She wasn’t quite sure what  _ he _ felt when they made contact, but whatever it was, every time they snuggled up into that chair, his eyes would flicker and he would make this odd, contented sound in the back of his throat - almost a purr.

She found it unbearably endearing. It was the only part of Harry she would ever think to describe as  _ cute. _

But it was these reasons that she found it so odd, that whenever someone else made contact with Harry, he would  _ jerk _ back like they were on fire.

She asked him about it once. He had stared at her for a long moment before answering.

“Touching normal people isn’t like touching you. It…”

She gave him a moment. He often had trouble finding the right words these days - it was why he so rarely talked.

“It’s so… normal, with you. I don’t know. It’s like… there’s this warmth, when I touch you. And it flows like water and coats me in this blanket of safety. But with normal people, they… they’re hands are so fleshy, so  _ empty, _ like… like touching an animal and not feeling any bones underneath the skin. Just a big, empty… something. And plus, it…”

His eyes flattened.

“Reminds me of home.”

She resolved to never ask again.

The little bits of contact came more slowly, as they truly began to become something not unlike friends. They ended up holding hands a lot, nearly subconsciously. The first time they did, she didn’t even notice for a while, and nearly jerked back when she did.

But her flesh seemed to tingle wherever Harry touched it, like touching a live wire…

She kept her hand there.

They ended up holding hands a lot after that.

And the tinier bits of contact just came naturally. It was really, she would think later, just like a relationship - they simply wanted to touch each other, near-constantly, so they just sneaked in these little bits of contact where it seemed natural. Little brushes were most common, but she also found herself playing with Harry’s hair whenever possible. Combing her fingers through it, or ruffling it to an even worse state of unkemptness.

In those early days, where she was getting ready to go to high school for the first time and still had an entire life ahead of her, she never even made the connection between these little bits of contact and those in a relationship.

That would come later.

Harry would later mention in passing, in a way that had nearly caused her to choke on her tea in shock, that these days in the library were what kept him sane, when he was ten. Before Hogwarts. That, without these days in the library, snuggling together on leather armchairs and reading with clasped hands, he might have been completely unprepared for having to interact with anyone back at Hogwarts.

And he added, oh-so casually, that he also might’ve committed suicide. Stated it so casually that it had actually taken a second for it to register and her heart to melt.

Both with sympathy, and with some amount of pride. It’s not every day that you’re told you saved someone’s life, after all, least of all someone you connect with so much. And she was also glad later - because that statement instantly dispelled any notions about her liking Harry more then Harry liked her, something she was sure would’ve occurred to her once or twice without that reassurance.

They spent seventh months in that library together. Well, obviously, their time didn’t take up every second of those seven months, especially since they both had school in the afternoon - but really, that time in the library was the  _ important _ part of the day.

And she found it only a tad bit bizarre that leaving work and going home left her disappointed instead of relieved.

Their time, of course, had more to it then has been described here. The biggest thing left out is certainly the magical experiments, of which they conducted many. But, in hindsight, those tests with magic had been under researched and mostly led to dead ends. In the end, they hardly mattered before Harry went to Hogwarts and started to know what he was even looking to accomplish.

What  _ had _ mattered about those days were the bits of contact, and the time spent cuddling in a chair. The little things that brightened their days.

Those were the events that went on to have repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that chapter was in a slightly weird style - all the more so because it didn't have any dialogue excluding Harry talking about contact near the end. I'm sorry if it was worse then usual because I didn't have the usual off-beat short sentence style I go for in this fic, but I jotted this down really quick and this is closer to how I usually write, so it just kinda... drifted back to the normal style.
> 
> Again, sorry if you don't like this chapter much. I don't think I'll have many like it. If you did, and you want more stuff by me styled like that, then you should probably check out my other HP fanfics - Cycles in particular. That one is probably my most thought out fanfic besides this one.
> 
> I actually write a lot, I think I have a total of 23 works now. And, shockingly, only one of them is PWP and only two contain any smut at all!
> 
> Geez. And I've only been here six months.
> 
> Uh, this note is running a little long, so I'll wrap it up. Again, sorry about the different style - and consider reading my other crap maybe, because I'm a shameless self-plugger.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	24. Vines and Phantoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First year, first week

“Professor?”

Now, let it be known that Severus Snape did not think of himself as a biased man.

Sure, he had long ago accepted that perhaps he held  _ some _ bias against certain parties - but he forgave himself for it. It was only human, after all, and besides, Potter and his gang had proved time and time again that they deserved that bias.

And he also forgave himself for assuming some things about Harry Potter.

Things Potter had disproven the second they had any interaction.

The boy had started disproving expectations simply by stepping up to the sorting hat. Now, Potter being thin was no surprise. Potter Sr. had certainly been something of a stringbean, and he remembered Lily-

He cut that train of thought off quickly.

Point was, thinness ran in the family.

Sickliness didn’t.

And Potter had a look to him - a cornered look, like a rabbit caught in a trap - that Severus recognized only too well.

Still, being thin and wide-eyed wasn’t enough to dispel a life-long grudge against the boy’s family. He dismissed those tiny details, comfortably secure in his bias.

And then the hat had called out Slytherin.

And Severus’s world had flipped on its head.

It was why he hadn’t called out Potter on his celebrity status, as he had intended to do. It was why he had asked a first-year question, and given the boy a chance to prove himself without bias. He had decided, then and there, that if Potter answered respectfully and correctly, then…

Then he may yet give the boy a shot.

And Potter had turned out to be a  _ model student. _

Severus was almost pissed off.

And yet, because the boy was  _ his _ charge, he didn’t take points the second he heard his voice-

_ (Even that voice was so different then what he expected - nothing like Lily or Potter Sr., but with a note of grating steel that seemed to draw on some phantom memory.) _

-pipe up from the doorway.

He turned and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“What a…  _ pleasant surprise, _ Mr. Potter.”

The boy blinked slowly at him.

“Harry.” He corrected quietly.

Severus couldn’t help but blink back.

“Do you mind if I come in, sir? There was something I was hoping to ask you.”

Severus only hesitated the smallest moment, before his curiosity gripped his vocal cords and answered for him.

“Please do close the door - it is dreadfully cold out there.”

Harry simply stepped in and followed the request - though he took a seat in front of the desk without asking. Severus raised an eyebrow, but decided not to question the decision.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mist- Harry?”

He added only a slight lilt to the word  _ pleasure _ \- leaving the boy to decide if he was being sarcastic or not.

“I read an article on you, sir.” The green-eyed boy-

_ (Something else odd - those eyes weren’t Lily’s, he knew those eyes too well. The boy’s were too sharp, too cold, brimming with foggy indifference.) _

-said.

Severus didn’t see fit to respond, though he felt the smallest flash of surprise light and die in his chest.

“Your research on wolfsbane is fascinating.”

There was an odd lilt to the boy’s voice when he said that - as if he hadn’t quite intended for it to come out, but it had been too strong a thought to keep caged. There might’ve even been a bit of admiration in his voice, which made a little bit of disgust momentarily flare in his stomach.

And then he reminded himself not to be disgusted. That this was Lily’s boy as much as it was Potter’s.

“Thank you.” Severus answered, voice flat. “But surely you didn’t come here just to praise me?”

“Oh - no, sir, I didn’t. It’s just…”

For the first time he could remember, the boy seemed to lose confidence. His voice trailed off and died in the air, and his eyes darted to some unknown point.

Suddenly, the boy shook himself - as if trying to jump-start his awareness of the conversation back to life.

“The article mentioned your age.”

Severus spent a tiny moment just staring at the boy, before smirking sharply.

“I do hope you aren’t going to suggest I’m too  _ young _ for this job.”

His voice was deadly. The boy blinked, and shook his head.

“No, of course not, sir. Age hardly matters.”

Severus simply waited for the boy to explain his reasons, refusing to look away from those piercing green eyes.

“It’s just - I noticed you were the same age as my mother.”

Severus pointedly  _ didn’t _ flinch.

And then he noticed that the boy hadn’t mentioned his father.

His attention sharpened ever-so-slightly.

“That I was.” Severus answered, voice blank as he could make it.

There was a pause.

“I just… wondered if you could tell me about her, sir. Or if-”

“Why?” He cut in, despite the fact that he considered interrupting incredibly rude.

Harry blinked.

“...Because you knew her? Or saw her, at least.”

“The other professors had her as a student.” He answered. “And besides, you know I am a Slytherin - why would you assume I had ever even met her?”

Harry considered the question for a long moment.

“...Well, I suppose because you’re also my head of house.” He finally answered, staring at him.

“...Elaborate.”

“I just… don’t quite think the other Professors like me very much, sir.” The boy admitted. “Frankly, I’ve been doing sub-par in most of my classes, and I’ve been told I’m…”

The boy smiled slightly.

_ “Offputting.” _

Severus couldn’t help but snort.

“That’s certainly one way to put it.”

Harry smiled a touch wider, before growing serious again.

“But I think I did fairly well in class today, sir, and…”

Harry stared off in the distance for a moment.

“And I think I respect you most, sir.” He finally admitted. “Not that I don’t respect McGonagall and Flitwick and all the other professors as well, but… but they don’t strike me as…”

He seemed to consider what word to use for a long moment.

“People who appreciate magic as much as they should.” He finally finished.

“...And  _ I _ do?” Severus said, only slightly incredulous. Harry blinked at him, as if surprised by his confusion.

“...Yes? It seems obvious.”

Severus gave him an incredulous look. Harry didn’t seem to understand.

There was a long, long pause.

“...As it happens, I did know your mother.”

Harry sat up, eyes sharpening. Severus paused, feeling ever-so-slightly lost for words for the first time in years.

“We were even… well, I suppose one could’ve called us friends.”

“Tell me about her.” Harry said quietly, peering at him in a way that Severus couldn’t help but feel was…

_...Strangely familiar… _

After a moment trying to chase a phantom memory that kept slipping from his grasp, he gave it up, and instead answered slowly.

“...Well, she was a genius, first of all…”

They ended up talking until the sun started to get low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally get some more Snape. Snape. Severus Snape.
> 
> Potter Puppet Pals, anyone?
> 
> We're getting some more interesting guesses for what's up with Harry - starting to dip into some Celtic myth. I'm really glad I'm not the only Mythology nerd who also loves Harry Potter.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	25. OUTTAKES: Draco Calls Dumbledore Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth year, but it isn't real.

Oh and just so you know this isn't an actual cannon scene in the story I've just had this rant in my head for a long time and I wanted to write some fluff. Sorry.

“Harry Potter!”

The room was completely, totally silent in response to Dumbledore’s call. Some people in the crowd glanced over at the boy in question, sitting serenely at the Slytherin table and staring at the headmaster in what could’ve been disbelief or bubbling rage, for all his face gave away.

And then the hall’s attention was taken by Draco standing up.

“You know what? FUCK. THIS.”

(Just imagine everyone is too shocked to react as Draco’s speech begins.)

“Are you kidding me? You set rules,  _ yourself, _ for what age people are allowed in your tournament, and then - when the kid who CLEARLY has a target painted on his back gets his name called - you don’t only accept it without a word of protest, but actually  _ call out _ the name so that there is no contest about whose name was on the slip,  _ and _ so that the entire student body knows who the mysterious  _ last champion _ is!”

“Do you understand how  _ kids minds work? _ Harry is  _ obviously _ going to be instant ridicule fodder for those who couldn’t get in themselves and are pissed off about being too young, and he’s already a prime candidate for any bullies out there anyway!”

“What you  _ should’ve _ done, Mr. Greatest Smartest Wizard in the World, is claimed that the slip was blank, and  _ then _ call Harry into your office the next day and have a PRIVATE discussion with him. If you don’t want this tournament to be filled with deaths, putting  _ the boy-who-lived _ in it isn’t exactly going to help, and if Harry didn’t sign himself up, not only is he not legally bound, he also shouldn’t be magically bound since he didn’t sign his own name. Unless the goblet can  _ fucking read _ \- which I guess is  _ possible _ given that it’s magic - but if all that matters is whose name is on the slip and not if  _ they _ signed it, then why isn’t the goblet already full of other kids names who paid an older student to get them in? You’d  _ think _ that you would’ve accounted for that - and plus, isn’t part of the reason that minors can’t put their names in because minors can’t sign legally binding contracts in the first place? Even if Harry  _ had _ put his name in, you could still disqualify him!”

“This is the  _ stupidest, _ most  _ contrived _ bullshit I’ve ever been a part of - and I lived through the Chamber of Secrets attack, where the self-proclaimed best dark wizard in the world painted his return on the walls instead of using subterfuge!”

“FUCK. THIS.”

And Draco hurled Harry up by his arm and left the hall, everyone speechless and incapable of stopping him in their complete shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write fluff get off my back please. And plus, our little bappies deserve it after all this angst and mystery.
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.
> 
> PS: Imma probably delete this later cause this story is supposed to be serious so if you really like it for some reason then you might wanna copy it. I also might make more outtakes like this later, whether it's just different perspective stuff or non-cannon fluff scenes like this. Or maybe smut or something.


	26. Starry-Eyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer before Fourth Year

It wasn’t that she had intended to get into a relationship with Harry.

It had just kind of… happened.

They had already taken to snuggling up in the same chair even before Harry went to Hogwarts. Those little tendrils of magic would  _ spark _ when they touched like tiny wires, running through her flesh and into her toes. And then he would fall asleep in her arms, and she would have to close whatever book he had been reading and set it aside, and his magic would crawl under her skin and stay there for what felt like  _ weeks. _

Harry’s magic had this kind of  _ lasting _ quality to it. It would stay just under her skin and wriggle comfortably, and spark, crackled and pop whenever she did something it found satisfying. It almost felt like a part of Harry was with her all the time, just under her skin. And it would always vibrate excitedly when she was happy and pulse heavily when she was mad.

She actually managed to break three teeth out of someone’s skull with a single punch, and she could’ve  _ sworn _ that little death green tendrils snaked around her fingers when she did.

But that just meant it was inevitable that at some point, in the throughs of puberty, she would have an orgasm with Harry’s magic pulsing under her skin.

And she had fainted.

Like,  _ actually _ fainted, just from the sensation of Harry’s magic suddenly  _ sparking _ under her skin. Her eyes had rolled so far into her skull that the old childhood fear of them turning all the way around and looking at her brain had resurfaced for the tiniest moment, and the stars that crackled in her vision suddenly overtook her in a wave.

She woke up, sweaty and disoriented, five minutes later.

She was shocked to learn that it was even  _ better _ if she managed to stay awake.

She and Harry had went out for coffee at a little downtown cafe, after her intern shift at the library was up. They had just wanted to spend more time together, really.

They stayed there longer and longer each time, neither of them wanting to go home. Eventually they started eating dinner there, too. The staff grew to recognize them.

It was just as much because Harry spent so much of the year at Hogwarts. They got to spend so little time together - might as well do as much with it as the could.

And then Harry had perked up suddenly, in a way that she knew well. He had just realized something.

"█████?"

“Yeah?”

“Is this a date?”

She had frozen up completely at the question, as it occurred to her suddenly that they were holding hands under the table and drinking coffee together.

It hit her like a truck that it  _ was _ rather like a date.

“...Uh…”

Harry tilted his head at her, as if confused by her hesitation. She felt a little pulse of endearment ride her spine.

“...I mean… uh… do you… is it okay if it is?”

Harry blinked at the question.

“I don’t mind doing this.” He said quietly. “So it hardly matters what we call it. It just occurred to me that the kids at school would call this a date, and I don’t want to use the wrong terminology.”

And she didn’t for a moment think he was telling anything but the truth.

“Uh… well, I mean…”

Harry waited. He was always patient.

“Er… it’s kinda… I mean, I’m older then you…”

Harry didn’t seem to think that was relevant, if his complete lack of reaction was anything to go by.

“Uh…”

Her eyes darted like jackrabbits, and an itchy heat crawled up her neck. Harry didn’t even seem to notice her discomfort.

His thumb stroked along her knuckles. For a moment, she was almost tempted to jerk her hand away.

His magic thudded with her heartbeat, just under her skin.

“...I guess… it… kinda is?”

Her voice wavered slightly. Harry seemed to take a moment to process.

“Well, I guess that makes you my girlfriend.”

Her heart missed a beat. She made some high-pitched noise or other, and Harry glanced at her in surprise.

“ █████ ?”

“Sorry!” She squeaked. “Just… uh…”

Harry’s eyes didn’t waver from their piercing stare. Her sentence died in the air.

“...Just what?”

“I just… don’t think… well, I mean, this is all kinda… fast, isn’t it?”

Harry seemed to consider that point.

“Well, no. I’m just trying to put words to what’s been slowly happening the four years we’ve known each other, and it seems to me that we’ve somehow begun dating.”

“What?! No! You can’t  _ accidentally _ date someone!”

Harry tilted his head.

“Why not?”

The rational part of her brain reminded all the other (currently panicking) parts that there  _ wasn’t _ a reason why not.

“...Uh…”

“And if we’ve begun dating,” Harry went on, ruthlessly logical as always, “then that makes you my girlfriend.”

She was suddenly unable to formulate a coherent thought.

That was how she had ended up with a boy three years her junior as her boyfriend.

When he had changed the subject, as suddenly as ever, she had been incredibly relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess that makes this my first pairing that includes an OC?
> 
> Having Fun,
> 
> -Howard R.


	27. You're Welcome

Hermione rarely wanted to know more about Harry.

Sure, okay, in first year she had read his journal, and she had had her moments of curiosity here and there, but any time she really wanted more information about the boy it was more from wariness then anything.

Point was, she wasn’t fascinated by him, like she suspected Malfoy was (and how they had ever became friends was a mystery to her still).

But one day, in fourth year, she woke up as usual, got herself ready, and went into the great hall with a leather-bound book begging to be read and an empty, waiting stomach, and stopped cold halfway to the Gryffindor table.

Because Harry Potter - as in, her first friend, the boy-who-lived, the strangest person she had ever met and possible abuse victim, and most importantly of all, the  _ Slytherin _ -

Was in what looked to be a very active conversation with Neville Longbottom.

Okay, sure, Harry had taken to sitting at whatever table he wanted, but…

She certainly hadn’t expected him to become friends with  _ Neville, _ of all people.

She approached the table almost warily, sitting down next to Harry and putting her book on the table as she subconsciously tuned in to their conversation.

“It really is a fascinating little weed - gillyweed, it’s called, which is a… shockingly fitting name.”

Harry laughed softly, a reaction so incredibly rare for him that she actually jumped a bit and turned to him, eyes wide as headlights.

“Oh. Uh, hi Hermione.” Neville said, attention shifting to her. Harry blinked and turned as well, and smiled at her.

“Hello Hermione. Me and Neville were just discussing magical wetland plants - apparently he’s picked up a book on it recently.”

She blinked, unsure exactly why she was so incredibly shocked by-

...Well, no, she was  _ certainly  _ sure why she was so shocked.

Harry and Neville had somehow become friends within the last twenty-four hours.

“...Uh… right.” She said, a little numbly.

And then, suddenly, Harry snapped his fingers, like he had just come to a revelation. Hermione noticed a tiny spark  _ flash _ between his fingers when he did - bright blue, snapping into focus before vanishing a half-moment later.

“Oh. Yes, right. I meant to give you this, Hermione.”

She blinked, but he was already rifling around in his bag.

“...Why?”

He glanced up, staring at her blanky.

“...Isn’t it September 19th, Neville?”

He didn’t take his eyes off her as he asked this.

“Yeah, it is.”

Hermione felt her eyes dart away from Harry’s without her input. His stare was entirely too piercing.

“That  _ is _ your birthday?”

_ That _ made her focus shift back to Harry, who was tilting his head softly - like she was an interesting riddle.

“...Uh… yeah, but you don’t-”

She was cut off by him pulling a nondescript black box from his bag and offering it to her.

She hesitated for a long moment before grabbing it.

A silver watch sat in the box, ensconced in dark red satin.

She didn’t gasp, or gape, because she  _ wasn’t a child anymore and she refused to be so damn stricken by a birthday present _ \- but she couldn’t help her wide-eyed star as she lifted the shiny silver artifact from the box.

She held it and stared for a long moment, before her brain jump-started and she began to babble.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t  _ possibly _ take this, Harry, you didn’t even-”

She was cut off when he tapped the watch with his wand and began to talk over her.

“It’s got an engraving on the back, and it’s enchanted to work in magical settings.”

Without conscious thought, she turned the watch over.

_ Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure _

_ -Rowena Ravenclaw _

“I - I  _ can’t _ take - I - how much did this  _ cost?” _

She couldn’t help the incredulous note her voice was beginning to take.

She hadn’t even known Harry  _ knew _ her birthday.

“Around a thousand pounds.” Harry said with an easy shrug. Like he was talking about the weather.

“A - a  _ thousand?” _

“In muggle money. Though it also cost a little bit to get those enchantments - I can’t do them myself, I’m better with defence spells.”

She stared at him like he was an alien creature that had just landed on earth and started making incomprehensible sounds like it expected her to understand.

“Harry, I-”

“Yes, you  _ can _ take it,” he said simply with a sharp eye. “It’s your birthday. You get presents. That’s how this works. So - take it.”

She stared at the watch silently for a long, long moment.

“...Thank you.”

Harry smiled a tiny, private smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Uhm. This is the end of this fic.
> 
> That means I'm... abandoning it, I guess? I don't really love to use that term, because it was never really a full story in the first place. More like little snippets of an AU I've been slowly carving out. But I *am* hereby renouncing ownership of this story, and this AU. Anyone who wants to use this in any way they wish or continue this story can do so at their leisure.
> 
> I'm orphaning this work. Not because I don't want to be associated with it, but because I no longer intend to write it, and no longer want to claim any ownership of it. It is all of yours now.
> 
> I would like to thank anyone who has read this far, for sticking with this story. And I'd like to apologize to anyone who was really hoping for a satisfying end to this weird little ride. But I've decided to move on from this story, and no longer feel that I am able to write it. Even this chapter I already had nearly-finished long before now - I just had to polish it up a bit before publishing. I no longer feel I am capable of continuing this work, and again, I am sorry for that.
> 
> I would like to thank all my commenters, and everyone who has left kudos. You've all been wonderful.
> 
> Sayonara,
> 
> -Howard R.


End file.
